


Boy

by hypercharles



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abusive Dursley Family (Harry Potter), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Good Severus Snape, Harry Potter Needs a Hug, Harry Potter will have a pet snake, Homeless Harry, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Indian Harry Potter, Manipulative Albus Dumbledore, Mentor Severus Snape, Multi, POC!Harry, Powerful Harry Potter, Pre-Canon, Remus Lupin adopts Harry Potter, Sirius Black Adopts Harry Potter, Slytherin Harry Potter, Wandless Magic, Yikes, goddamn it that should have been canon, harry needs a snake
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:40:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 35,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22581145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hypercharles/pseuds/hypercharles
Summary: As far as the wizarding world knows, the entire Potter Family was killed on Halloween, 1981. Dumbledore defeated Voldemort mere hours later.The world forgets about the infant buried in Godric Hallow's cemetary.That is, until Lupin finds a young boy living on the streets. A young boy, with James's dark skin, wild hair, and Lily's green eyes...
Relationships: Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 113
Kudos: 696





	1. The boy who... lived?

**Author's Note:**

> I need to stop writing new fics!!! But i cant!! Stop!!! so i hope you enjoy

He was walking when he felt it. A small hand reaching into his coat pocket, aiming for the money he had stowed there. He grabbed the wrist and turned.

It was a child.

The boy was filthy, covered in grime, although his dark skin made it hard to tell just how bad it was. His hair, which looked like it had once been curly, lay flat and greasy against his head, covering his ears and forehead. The worst was his face, gaunt and pinched, evidence that he hadn’t eaten a good meal in a very long time. He had a scar stretching from above his right eye down to his jaw.

What stopped Lupin in his tracks was the boy’s eyes—big and green.

His grip tightened reflexively on the boy’s wrist.

“I’m sorry, sir. Please-“ the child cut himself off, ducking his head and looking for all the world as if he were preparing to be struck.

“Are you hungry?” Lupin found himself asking.

“I- no, I’m fine, sir. Please—I can - I’ll get out of your way, Sir, just please don’t tell the police about me!” The boy was begging.

Lupin didn’t care what the boy said, because even his wrist was skeletal. The boy had to be starving.

“It’s okay, child. I’m not going to report you,” Lupin began. The boy’s shoulders relaxed slightly. “I do want to get you something to eat, and make sure you’ll be safe once I leave you,” Lupin continued.

The boy bit his lip. “I can’t- I can’t pay you, sir. Not with money. I could- do you want to take me somewhere private, or?” His face was guarded, not allowing Lupin to feel the very fear that had the boy’s pulse racing under Lupin’s fingers.

“No! No, I don’t need payment, child. I just want to get you a solid meal. Please let me buy you a sandwich, or something?”

The boy thought for a long moment, before nodding slightly. This was a testament to how hungry the child must be, for him to be willing to allow a complete stranger to buy him lunch. He clearly was not used to such charity.

Lupin very carefully did not think about the offer the kid had made, and especially did not think about how many people had accepted that offer in the past.

Lupin let go of the boy’s wrist slowly, half expecting him to bolt as soon as he had his arm back. But the child did not.

“Can I ask your name?” Lupin says softly, as he starts leading the boy toward a nearby sandwich shop.

“I’ve only ever been called Boy,” the child begins. Lupin nearly trips over his own feet. The child continues as if that declaration wasn’t absolutely tragic. “But I’m pretty sure my name is Harry? That’s what the nice lady calls me in my dreams.”

This time Lupin does trip, but thankfully he catches himself before he actually tumbles.

“Harry,” he says, not quite a question.

The boy nods. “Can I—will you tell me your name?”

“Remus. Remus Lupin.”

Lupin directs them into the shop, changing the subject briefly to ask what kind of sandwich Harry likes. Harry shrugs, and says that he hasn’t had a proper sandwich in months. Lupin takes this in stride, and orders him a simple ham sandwich. He orders himself a turkey sandwich, and tells Harry he can eat whichever one he likes better.

They sit, waiting for the server to call their number.

“Do you live with people?” Lupin asks.

Harry shrugs. “I used to live with my aunt and uncle, but they—they weren’t nice. When I started school, the teachers asked a lot of questions. A pretty lady came to the house and took me away. Then I was with an even meaner family. So now I live with a couple other kids at a shelter.”

Lupin feels sick.

“What was your aunt’s name?” he asks, aiming for casual and missing by several astronomic units.

“Petunia. And I think- I think maybe my mom’s name was Lily? One time Aunt Petunia was yelling about how ‘Lily’ shoulda never had me.” He shrugs.

Lupin goes white. The server calls their number, and Lupin robotically retrieves the food.

Harry falls on his sandwich like a feral animal.

“Don’t go so fast, Harry. You’ll make yourself sick,” Lupin cautions him.

Harry very reluctantly slows down enough to actually taste the food.

“I’d like you to stay with me tonight. I want-I want you to be safe, and I want you to meet someone.”

Harry instantly bristles.

“You said you didn’t want any payment!” He protests. “You can’t make me do you _and_ your friend now! That’s no fair!”

Lupin rushes to reassure him. “I don’t want payment. You just- you remind me of my godson. He died eight years ago.”

Harry’s face softens. “Oh. I’m sorry- I didn’t mean to be rude.”

Lupin brushes this off. “You aren’t being rude. You have the right to defend yourself.”

Harry gives him a look like Lupin is an alien.

“Aren’t I— I don’t want to get your house all dirty. Aunt Petunia always got so mad if I got the house dirty.”

Lupin sighs softly. “I’m not going to get mad at you, Harry. If it makes you feel better, you can take a shower at my place.”

Harry perks up considerably at this. The two finish their sandwiches and head out. Lupin feigns needing the restroom and takes a quick moment to shoot Sirius a patronus.

_Bringing home a friend. Do not freak out when you see him. If you scare him, he might bolt._

**_??? What friend ??? You have no friends?????????????_ **

Lupin rolls his eyes at Sirius’s dramatics. He wishes he could give him a better heads up, but there’s no good way to say “your godson that died eight years ago isn’t actually dead and instead he looks like a skeleton and tried to sell me his body” through a patronus. Well, he could say it that way, but he doesn’t think it would go over well.

“My husband will be home,” he tells Harry. “He might act a bit strange, but please don’t feel afraid. He just—“

“If I remind you of your godson, I assume I’ll remind him of the same thing?” Harry suggests. “People are always weird to me. One time this guy dressed entirely in purple came to the shelter and spent about half an hour just staring at me.”

Remus files that away for later.

Lupin is glad that he only lives a few blocks from where he found Harry. The boy is obviously exhausted.

Lupin is also incredibly guilty that he only lives a few blocks from where he found Harry. How many times had he walked past him without even realizing?

Sirius is waiting on the front step. Lupin gives him a firm look, hoping that his face conveys how much he really doesn’t want Sirius to freak out.

“This is my house, Harry,” he says. The boy looks moderately confused by the concept. Lupin ignores Sirius’s gasp.

“Your house... is rainbow?”

Lupin whirls around and points at Sirius. “I told you that was a bad idea!” He directs his gaze to Harry. “I told him it was strange, that mug- people don’t do that kind of thing!”

Harry snorts.

Sirius is still staring at Harry, his mouth slightly open. “I— this is your friend? I—“

Harry shrugs. “He caught me stealing from him, but I dunno what’s going on because most people would have just hit me or called the cops.”

Sirius gapes at Harry.

Lupin sighs. “Can we take this inside, Si, I promised Harry a shower and a place to rest.”

Harry does his best not to look too eager for the shower. Experience has taught him that looking happy leads to punishment.

The three of them head inside. Harry tries his best not to touch a single thing, not wanting to get anything dirty.

Lupin and Sirius seem to be having a conversation with facial expressions and hand gestures, so Harry gives himself a minute to evaluate the exits of the house.

There’s the front door behind him, and he doesn’t think either man locked it, so that’s a solid exit. Down the hall he sees what must be the backdoor, but his crappy eyes can’t tell him if it’s locked or not. Windows are almost definitely locked.

He solidifies his escape plan. If things start going south, front door is plan A, back door is plan B, and the windows are plan C. Good.

Having figured that out, Harry relaxes a bit. He looks over to the men and sees them both just watching him. He flushes, not used to people staring without wanting something from him.

Lupin snaps out of it, ushering Harry towards a small but clean bathroom, which has a shower stall in the corner. Lupin grabs a towel from a nearby closet.

“I have some old clothes that just might be small enough to fit you,” Lupin says.

Harry says thank you, and Lupin shows him how to work the faucets, warning Harry that the water might be too hot at first.

Then Remus leaves the room, closing the door softly behind him.

“Is that—is that really him?” Sirius asks as soon as Lupin is in the room.

Lupin nods. Sirius’s knees give out, and Remus quickly grabs him, and deposits him on the couch.

“He says his aunt’s name is Petunia. He thinks his mom’s name is Lily. And—and that she calls him Harry in his dreams,” Lupin says all of this quietly, not wanting Harry to hear, but not willing to actively cast a privacy spell.

“He—what have you told him?” Sirius asks.

“I told him that he reminds me of my late godson, and that that’s why I want to take care of him for a bit. That’s all I can tell him until—until we’re sure.”

“Do you want to have Dumbledore confirm, or...?” Sirius trails off, not sure what else they could do.

Lupin’s face darkens.

“Harry said a man dressed entirely in purple came and just watched him one day,” Remus explains. “Si, I don’t want to think that Dumbledore was hiding him from us, but...”

“Well, we don’t need him to confirm, I suppose. I mean, we know the spell, and Merlin knows we have enough of James left in the house,” Sirius says.

“I don’t think we’d need the spell,” Remus says. “Look at him, he looks just like James.”

“I know, Re, but-“ Sirius cuts off when they hear the shower stop. Sirius grabs the nearest book—which happened to be his sketchbook—and Remus goes to gather (and shrink) some clothes. Once they are small enough, he heads over to the bathroom.

“Harry?” He calls, “I have clothes for you. Can I open the door?”

Harry says yes, so Remus slowly opens the door. Harry’s got himself wrapped in a towel, and he watches Remus’s movements carefully as Remus sets the clothes on the counter.

“Thanks,” Harry says softly as Remus backs out of the room. Remus smiles at Harry and shuts the door.

Harry feels amazing. It has been almost a year since he had a proper shower, since he didn’t really count jumping into the lake as a real bath. His hair feels normal again, and he doesn’t itch from the grime anymore.

He pulls on the clothes Lupin gave him, marveling at the soft fabric. The shirt drowns him, but the pants manage to stay on his hips, so he feels decent.

He walks out into the living room. Sirius is absently doodling in a sketch book, and Remus is in the kitchen.

“Harry, do you like tea?” Remus asks from behind a cupboard door.

“I don’t know?” Harry says uncertainly.

“You’ve never had tea?” Sirius asks, sounding upset.

Harry cringes at the tone, but answers. “I’ve made it plenty of times, but I’ve never actually been allowed to drink it,” he explains.

Sirius’s frown grows stronger, and Harry fidgets.

“Don’t worry, Harry,” Remus says. “You can try some, and you can see if you like it or not.”

Harry accepts this and then turns to Remus’s husband.

“I—um—sorry but, what’s your name?” He says. “I don’t think Remus actually told me.”

“Sirius,” the man replies.

“I’m, yeah, I’m serious, Remus didn’t tell me.” Harry is confused as to why this man thinks he’d be asking for his name if he didn’t actually need to.

Sirius bursts into laughter, startling Harry.

“No, my name is Sirius. S-i-r-i-u-s. Like the star.” Sirius chuckles again. “Don’t worry, everyone makes that mistake. I just think it’s funny so I never try to explain ahead of time. Sirius Black, at your service,” he says and gives a mock bow.

Harry nods, but it’s clear that he has no idea why Sirius enjoyed that so much.

“I’m Harry, then. Harry Potter.”

Lupin drops a teacup, and it shatters on impact with the floor.

“Are you alright?” Harry asks.

“I—I’m fine. I—I just dropped a cup,” Lupin’s voice is strained.

“I’ve done that loads of times,” Harry volunteers. “I did it so many times my uncle stopped hitting me for it and bought cheaper cups instead.”

“Merlin,” Sirius swears. His heart hurts. Did Harry’s family treat him like Sirius’s had treated him? Was it worse than that?

Remus comes in with the tea, handing a cup each to Harry and Sirius.

“...I. I’m starting to think that I might have misunderstood something,” Harry says. “I thought... you sure you’re doing this for free? This is a lot. I don’t want you to turn around and say I owe you later on.”

“How old are you, Harry?” Remus asks in lieu of answering.

“Nine. Why?”

“You’re a minor, Harry. A child. There’s no need for payment from a child.”

“That’s not what my uncle said. He said I always needed to earn everything he ever gave me.” Harry is standing by the door at this point, tense and ready to run at the slightest indication that he’s about to be attacked.

Lupin sighs heavily. “Harry, I think we should start over. My name is Remus Lupin. I work as a social worker for people who have rough lives. My house doubles as a safe space for people when they need a place to stay. It just so happens that you remind me of my godson, but I would have offered you help even if you didn’t. Please stay.”

Harry thinks this over for a few minutes. “If you’re a social worker, doesn’t that mean you have to report me to the cops?”

Sirius interjects at that point. “Actually, no. Remus works for a… private organization. We don’t ever call the cops on people unless we think they are a danger to themselves or others.”

Harry takes a few more minutes to gather up his reply. “That makes sense, I guess. I just don’t want to get sent to another shitty home.”

“Language,” Lupin says automatically, before catching himself. “Sorry.”

Harry laughs, and it’s the best sound either man has ever heard. “So you really won’t report me?”

“Promise,” Lupin says.

Harry thinks for a moment.

“If you’re a social worker, does that mean you help people get adopted?”

Lupin shoots a glance at Sirius before answering. “Sometimes, yes.”

“Do you help people find their real parents?” Harry continues, trying his best not to look too hopeful.

“It depends on who’s looking and why,” Lupin says cautiously.

“Okay,” Harry says, and leaves it at that. He doesn’t want to ask too many questions, in case Lupin stops wanting to answer them.

* * *

The evening is awkward, to say the least, but Harry is happy to be somewhere warm. Part of him knows that it’s stupid to trust these strangers so easily, but… something in him insists that these people are _safe._ These people feel oddly familiar, and the child in Harry wants nothing more than to stay in this house forever.

Lupin tells Harry no less than seven times that he is welcome to stay as long as he wants. Harry catches him mumbling some strange words every so often, but as he grows more and more tired, the less he cares.

He just wants to sleep, and to feel safe while doing so. He wants to sleep with both eyes shut, for once in his life.

So he ignores the fear and allows himself to trust. And he has the best night’s sleep he’s had in years.


	2. Freaks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, sorry if it took me a while to post. Some big shit has been going down in my life and I barely have the energy think, never mind write.

Lupin has no idea how he’s going to tell Harry. How the hell do you tell a random kid, ‘hey, you’re actually my godson. Sorry, I thought you were dead and left you to starve on the streets for nearly a decade.”

Again, he could say that, but it wouldn’t exactly help matters.

Merlin’s beard.

He rolls over and sees Sirius is also awake still. The man is just staring at the ceiling, clearly lost in his own head.

“Si?”

“Yeah?”

“How… how did this happen?”

Sirius doesn’t respond. He just continues to stare at the ceiling. A tear traces its way down his face.

“How… how did we not know he was alive?”

“Dumbledore,” Sirius finally says. “But I don’t—I don’t understand why, Remus. Why would he hide Harry from us?”

“I don’t know, love.” Remus closes his eyes briefly. “I don’t know.”

Sirius rolls over to face him. “How—how do we tell him?”

“I was just wondering the same thing, actually.” Lupin’s voice is strained. “I don’t—I don’t know if he’ll believe us. I’m… I’m almost wondering if we should tell him about magic first so that we can properly explain…”

“Properly explain what? ‘Oh yeah, Harry, the greatest wizard we’ve ever known apparently lied to us and you weren’t killed by you-know-who, but somehow survived. Said great wizard then left you with muggle relatives who were apparently abusive fucks, instead of having you come to us, as you should have. Sorry it took us so long to figure it out, but now that we have, would you like to live with us?’”

Lupin sighs. “I know, Pads. Nothing will be able to make this better for him, or for us. I just think it might be easier if we ease him into the idea of magic before the rest comes out.”

Sirius clenches his jaw. “You’re right, I’m sorry. I’m just—“ He clenches the sheets in his fists. “I’m so angry that I don’t—I can’t even think straight. I just want to—I don’t even know.”

Lupin strokes Sirius’s hair gently. “We’ll figure it out, babe.”

The two men drift off into an uneasy sleep, both hearts aching for the little boy asleep down the hall.

* * *

Harry is awoken by the smell of bacon cooking. His stomach growls. He can’t remember the last time he smelled bacon, never mind ate it.

It takes him a minute to remember where he is. When he does, he allows himself a small smile.

These men have done more for Harry in the last 12 hours than anyone else has done in his entire life. He would give anything to stay here for the rest of his days.

His smile falls. These men won’t want him around for very long, he thinks. Who would? These men clearly have better, more important things to do than to care for a little homeless scoundrel.

Still, he’d chew his arm off for even one more night here.

He’s startled from his thoughts by a knock on his door. “Harry?” a voice calls from the other side.

He shakes his head to clear his mind, and then goes to the door, opening it.

Lupin smiles when he sees him. “Hey, kiddo. Sirius is just finishing cooking some breakfast. Would you care to join us?”

Harry manages a simple nod. “Do I—do you have any chores that need doing while you eat?”

Lupin frowns. “No—I – I meant for you to eat with us, Harry.”

Harry blinks. “er—are you sure? Uncle Vernon usually made me get my chores done first before he let me eat whatever was leftover from Dudley.”

Lupin refrains from hitting the wall. “No—come eat, Harry. You must be starving.” He turns and heads down the stairs, trusting that Harry will follow.

And Harry does, slowly at first, waiting for Lupin to turn back and tell him the catch. But Lupin doesn’t take back the offer, and Harry walks into the kitchen just barely able to mask his eagerness to eat a proper breakfast for once in his life.

The badly hidden anticipation on Harry’s face is quickly replaced by confusion. Fear, almost, except that Harry has learned that you never, ever show fear.

The pan with the bacon is currently floating a few inches above the burner. Eggs are in another pan, and the salt and pepper shakers are moving on their own above it.

“What the fuck.” Harry deadpans.

“Language,” Lupin says. And then, “Sorry, habit.”

Harry shakes his head.

“It’s okay, but what—how—“

Sirius turns from where he was rooting around in the fridge. “Oh, hey Harry.” He’s clearly aiming for casual but fails spectacularly.

“What the fu—I mean, er, how is the pan… and the shakers…?” Harry can’t even form the question.

“Magic,” Lupin says bluntly. “He’s using magic.”

Harry flinches. “There’s no such thing as m-magic.” His voice has a hint of panic in it.

“Of course there is, Harry,” Sirius says joyfully. “Otherwise I’d make a piss poor wizard.”

Harry shakes his head vehemently. “There’s no such thing as magic or wizards. There’s no such thing.”

Lupin sits at the table, and Harry sinks into a chair opposite him. He watches a plate fill with food numbly, as if he’s not quite processing what’s happening in front of him.

“I assure you, Harry, that magic does exist. Sirius and I are wizards.”

Harry blinks up at Lupin. “But—how—I.” He cuts himself off and takes a breath. “Not everyone has magic, though.”

“Correct, Harry,” Lupin sounds proud. “Most people are non-magic—“

“Muggles,” Sirius interrupts. “We call them muggles.”

Harry nods dumbly. Lupin smiles.

“Yes, most people are muggles, but some of us are magic. Witches and Wizards, as well as a whole slew of magical creatures.”

“Magical—you’re serious.”

“I’m always Sirius,” Sirius cracks. “But yes, Remus is telling the truth.”

“But—why—how come most people don’t know about magic?”

Sirius turns off the burner and sets a plate in front of Harry. “That is a very complicated issue, but essentially, muggles don’t typically know about magic because, in the past, muggles have attempted to persecute magic folk. Now, eat this before it gets cold.”

“Perse-what-now?” Harry asks. He picks up his fork and starts eating the eggs.

“Persecute. Or kill for committing a crime.”

“Oh. So muggles tried to kill witches and stuff before?” Harry asks through a mouthful of food.

“Exactly. So we stay a secret to keep ourselves safe.” Sirius beams, enjoying being able to talk about magical history. It's always been a favorite topic of his.

“So how come you’re telling me?”

“Well, it would be kind of difficult to keep it a secret from someone staying in the same house as us,” Lupin says softly.

Harry frowns. “But I’m not—I assumed you’d be done with me by now, right? Don’t I have to go back to the shelter?”

Lupin shakes his head. Sirius leans forward and puts a hand on Harry’s arm. “Kid, we’d like you to stay here for a bit. You’re awful young to be out on the streets, and we’d feel a lot better knowing you were safe.”

Harry chews on a piece of bacon, thinking it over before he answers. “You’d—you’d really let me stay here?”

“Of course,” Lupin says simply.

“But—I don’t have any money. I can—I can,” Harry closes his eyes, his knuckles white on the edge of the table. “I can pay you other ways, but not every night. Please—it takes time to heal—“

Sirius cuts him off. “No! Merlin no, Harry. We—we don’t need payment, especially not like that.” He sounds upset, but Harry isn’t quite sure why.

Lupin places a hand on Harry’s. “Harry, we don’t need any payment. Not for doing what any decent adult should have been doing your whole life.”

Harry frowns but accepts this for now. They can revisit the issue later.

“Can—Can I learn magic? I think I might already know some!”

Lupin quirks an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“Well, everyone always calls me a freak because I can do weird stuff, like make hiding places bigger and fixing broken stuff and talking to snakes and—“

“Woah, slow down. Can you show us what you mean?” Sirius is skeptical.

Harry nods and then concentrates on the fork in front of him. A few seconds later, the fork has nearly tripled in size.

“Merlin’s beard,” Sirius mutters.

Lupin drops his own spoon at this display.

Harry smiles. “See? So I bet I could learn magic! Please, if it’s not too much trouble?”

Sirius nods. “Ya know, kid. I think we’re going to get along just fine.”

Harry flushes slightly at this.

* * *

Lupin is stunned by how much Harry can do without a wand. Sirius, ever the teacher, asks Harry to demonstrate what he can already do so that they know where to start.

Harry is eager to learn and eager to show off without being punished for being a freak.

He grows and shrinks several items around them, apparates across the room, tears a piece of paper apart and mends it, and produces a small ball of light that hovers above his fingertips.

“I realized I could do this stuff about a year ago! I accidentally made a closet bigger so that I could fit in it better, and then I tried to do other stuff, and some of it worked, but I never told anyone because Uncle Vernon says that freaks get killed by the government and I should never, ever think that magic is real, and—“

He goes on and on. Sirius and Remus just listen mutely, awed by how much Harry can do, and pained by the fear in Harry’s voice when he talks about Vernon.

Sirius just files away everything Harry says, focusing on the presents. He vows to make Vernon’s life a living hell, but he has more important things to focus on first.

Things like making sure Harry never feels like a freak again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so everyone whos gonna @ me about harry being too trusting or me not capturing the essence of a child... 
> 
> My job is literally 50% me caring for abused, traumatized, or abandoned children who have recently been adopted into stable families. These kinds of kids grow up fast, and they dont always develop the same way as other kids. My harry's gonna have a shitload of attachment and behavior issues, because that's what happens when kids have adverse childhood experiences. I'm writing primarily from Remus's perspective, because i have a shitton of experience being the "hero" for unloved kids. Not tryna brag, just tryna make it clear that im not writing out of my ass. 
> 
> On the other hand, you cannot convince me that harry wouldnt trust remus right off the bat because Harry is the OG dumb bitch and with some extra Charles-ness added in, he's gonna be a traumatized dumb bitch.


	3. Betrayal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> YO THIS STORY IS OFFICIALLY OFF HIATUS!!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY HEY HEY, so I have a lot to say real quick. 
> 
> Everything I said in my big long author's note is still true. 
> 
> however, I've pulled together an outline for this story, and I've pushed the story in a direction that doesn't feel so much like I'm writing about my student. I've done a lot of reflection, and I have a clear line of separation between fiction and reality. Yes, that student will still always be on my mind for this story, but I no longer feel like its to the point where I'm using that student to write this story. It might be confusing or surprising, but I had a sudden epiphany that even if my character is, in retrospect, similar to my student, I'm not writing about my student.
> 
> Also, I'm in a lot better place mentally right now, and I'm ready to continue this story. I'm really excited about this story: I have lots of big plans for it.

Sirius and Remus do their tests on Harry within the first week.

The result is undeniable: _Harry James Potter, Born July 31, 1980. Son of James Fleamont Potter and Lily Evans Potter._

They decide they need more time before they can tell Harry. They need Harry to trust them first. If they tell him now, he’ll think they're nuts and make a run for it.

So they wait.

Instead, they focus on getting Harry to a healthy weight, which is not an easy task. The boy is dreadfully underweight, and it pains both men to know that Harry was starving for so long.

Even now, Harry eats every meal like it could be his last.

They also spend time teaching Harry both magic and muggle concepts. Harry hasn’t been to a muggle school for quite some time, so he’s a bit behind in some subjects.

Surprisingly, though, Harry is quite a strong reader, even though his writing isn’t great. He complains about the quills, saying that a pen would be easier.

The next day, there’s a pack of ballpoint pens waiting for him on the dining room table. Harry approaches them cautiously until Sirius assures him that they are, in fact, for Harry.

“What’s the point of forcing you to use a writing utensil you aren’t comfortable with?” He asks. “It just makes it harder to learn.”

Harry nearly cries. He feels ridiculous, losing it over a pen, but really, it’s not just a pen.

It’s the fact that instead of blaming him for struggling, Sirius found a way to solve the problem. He actually _listened_ to Harry.

That hardly ever happened with any of the adults in Harry’s life before meeting Remus.

By the time a month has passed, Harry is healthier, happier, and nearly a full year ahead of his age group when it comes to lessons, wizarding or not.

He feels comfortable in the Lupin-Black house and wistfully thinks of what his life would have been like if Remus had been his social worker all those years ago. Even finding out that the man is a werewolf didn’t bother him. These two men are the first adults that have ever made Harry feel safe. Nothing could change that.

So it doesn’t faze him when Remus and Sirius both leave the house one day, saying they have an important errand that, unfortunately, Harry cant attend. Harry just shrugs and finds a book to curl up with.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” Sirius asks. He’s always reluctant to let Harry out of his sight.

“Yeah, Sirius, I’ll be fine,” Harry assures him. “But thanks, really, for asking.”

Harry always makes sure the two men know how much he appreciates them. He’s scared that if he doesn’t show how grateful he is, they won't feel like they need to help him anymore. Instinctually, he knows that these men are genuinely decent people, and would never treat him like Vernon did, but he can't shake the years of abuse that have ingrained the politeness into his very core.

Sirius nods and ruffles Harry’s hair, nearly getting his fingers caught in the curls.

Soon, the house is quiet, and Harry sinks into _The Tales of Beadle the Bard._

* * *

“Si, are you sure you can handle this?” Remus asks softly, as they approach the office. He had reached out to Dumbledore, stating that he had stumbled onto a case that involved a Hogwarts student. Being a social worker, Remus had had this happen before, so Dumbledore had no reason to suspect any falsehoods.

Sirius, of course, had insisted on coming.

“I’m sure,” Sirius says flatly. He’s ready to beat the shit out of Dumbledore, but he’s promised to keep his hands to himself. Hurting the man won't undo any of the wrongs Harry has suffered, and he doesn’t want to risk Harry’s future by getting himself in trouble with the law.

After all, Dumbledore is a highly respected figure, and Sirius is the black sheep of a family known to be dark wizards.

Lupin nods and knocks on the door. Dumbledore opens it with a smile.

“Hello, my boy,” he says, not even blinking when he sees that Sirius is there as well. “How can I help you today, gentlemen?”

Sirius can't help but blurt it out. “We found Harry.”

Dumbledore does blink at that. “Excuse me, my boy, but I’m not—”

Lupin cuts him off. “Albus, we found Harry, and we know what you did. What we don’t know is why.”

Dumbledore tilts his head. “I’m sorry, but I think you’ll have to give me more information, Remus. I’m very confused. Harry, Harry passed away eight years ago.”

For the barest of moments, Lupin thinks that maybe they were wrong about Dumbledore knowing. Maybe the man in purple wasn’t Albus. God knows Dedalus Diggle was known for wearing stuff that ridiculous.

But while Sirius impatiently explains, Remus sees it.

Sees the flash of anger, of frustration, cross Dumbledore’s face quickly replaced with a mask of surprise.

Sees him react more to the fact that Harry was taken from the Dursley’s than to the actual reason why.

Sees the gleam in Dumbledore’s eye when Sirius mentions the magic Harry can do.

Sirius has barely finished explaining when Remus finally puts all the pieces together.

“You put him with those awful muggles.” Lupin looks Dumbledore dead in the eye. “You hid him from us, from the whole world, and put him with those awful muggles. You didn’t discover him in the shelter, you were checking on him. I’m betting it wasn’t the first time, it was just the first time Harry noticed you. You’ve known where he was the entire time, for almost eight years.”

Dumbledore folds his hands together, and his eyes are sharp as he looks at his former students.

“Now, I’m not sure what you stand to gain from this accusation, but I can assure you—”

“That you placed Harry with those godawful muggles and now you’re trying to cover your ass,” Sirius interrupts. He stands, leaning over Dumbledore’s desk, fists clenched. “Don’t fucking deny it, just tell me why. Tell me why my godson spent e _ight_ birthdays wishing for a roof over his head and for no one to hit him that day. Tell me why he still thinks that he owes us his body in exchange for living with us, why he tries to _get on his knees_ , asking me to be _gentle_ , all because I bought him new sneakers. Tell me why he has scars all over his body, including down his face, because _someone sliced his face open with a shard of glass for no fucking reason other than Harry dropping a glass of fucking milk._ Tell me why HE THOUGHT HIS NAME WAS BOY UNTIL HE WAS FIVE. TELL ME WHY YOU HID HIM FROM US, LET US THINK HE WAS DEAD, LET US MOURN HIM FOR EIGHT YEARS WHEN YOU KNEW WHERE HE WAS THE ENTIRE TIME.” By now, Sirius is yelling, leaning into Dumbledore’s space, face red with anger.

Dumbledore sighs, polishes his glasses, and then sets them down on the desk, rubbing at his eyes.

“It was to protect him, Mr. Black.”

“Protect him?” Lupin asks incredulously. “How on earth was that protection?”

“Petunia is Lily’s blood relative. When Lily died, she cast protection onto Harry, protection through the blood tie. As long as Harry lived with Petunia, considered that to be home, Harry would be protected from—”

“From what?” Remus asks.

“From Voldemort,” Dumbledore responds.

“Voldemort died with James!” Sirius exclaims. “The Potters died stalling Voldemort so you could—”

A thought occurs to Sirius then, an awful thought.

His voice drops, becoming hoarse. “You didn’t. You didn’t kill him. Something Lily or James did—you took the credit in order to take the attention off of—so you, you could hide Harry and everyone would forget—you didn’t fucking kill him. Merlin,” Sirius says, going white. He drops back into his chair.

Lupin feels dread curl up in his stomach. “He’s—he’s not still out there?”

Dumbledore grimaces. “The truth? I don’t believe so.”

“The truth would be fucking wonderful,” Sirius says.

Lupin shoots him a look but then turns back to the headmaster.

“What really happened that night?”

“You all know the story,” Dumbledore says weakly.

“The story,” Remus says flatly, “Is that Voldemort went to kill the Potters. James managed to send you a Patronus telling you what was happening, but you got there just as Voldemort cast the killing curse on Harry. Too late to save them, you were able to engage Voldemort in a duel, which lasted several hours, before you finally defeated him. Lily, James, and Harry were all buried, considered to be martyrs, but forgotten in favor of lauding you as a hero. That’s the story, but obviously, that’s not how it really happened, because Harry is still alive, and you think he needs protection from Voldemort. So, what. Happened. That. Night?”

Dumbledore is silent for a long minute. Sirius starts to twitch, but a look from Remus has him biting off impatient remarks.

“Lily,” Dumbledore starts, sighing. “Lily defeated Voldemort.”

“What?” Sirius blurts out. Remus just raises an eyebrow.

“James died sending me the Patronus, that much is true. But Lily—Lily didn’t die fighting. Lily died by sacrificing herself. She gave up her life in hopes that Voldemort would spare Harry. That kind of sacrifice… it’s powerful. So when Voldemort cast the killing curse on Harry, it.. rebounded, I suppose. Lily’s sacrifice protected Harry from Voldemort being able to cast on him directly. Instead of killing Harry, the curse reflected back onto Voldemort.”

Remus and Sirius sit in stunned silence for a moment.

“So Voldemort is dead, either way?” Sirius asks hesitantly.

“There was no body, no… remains of any kind,” Dumbledore says softly. “He’s certainly gone, but I can only assume that his soul is still out there.”

Remus feels a wave of relief wash over him, despite how ominous that last statement ended. “Well, at least that much can be trusted. But why did any of that mean that Harry should go to muggles?”

“The sacrifice Lily made lives through her blood tie to Petunia. So, Voldemort would never be able to touch Harry as long as he lived with Lily’s blood family.”

Remus shakes his head, but Sirius beats him to the punch. “That’s bullshit.”

“Excuse me?”

“Even if I believe that Lily’s sacrifice is what saved Harry, there’s no bloody reason why living with Petunia would extend the protection. Lily was dead when Voldemort cast on Harry. Her blood wasn’t doing anything. If there was protection on Harry, it’s _on Harry_ , not in the Evans bloodline.” Sirius is fuming again. “Don’t bullshit us, Albus. There are plenty of other ways to keep an infant safe, without making up bogus theories about blood protection.”

Sirius stands up again, and Lupin has to stop him from grabbing the front of Dumbledore’s robes.

“I think we’ll be leaving,” Remus says firmly. “We’ve heard enough.” He pulls Sirius with him, not bothering to look back to see Dumbledore’s reaction.

Sirius pauses right at the door. Without turning, he says, “If I see you anywhere near Harry without my express permission, I’ll fucking kill you.”

With that, they leave Dumbledore’s office.

* * *

They decide to wait a few days before broaching the topic with Harry.

When they finally get to it, it’s been six weeks since Harry first stepped into the house. Remus and Sirius rack their brains, trying to find a smooth way to bring it up, without scaring Harry.

In the end, Harry is the one to bring it up.

“What was your godson’s name?” he asks absently, peering at the picture of the infant that hangs in the hall.

Sirius shoots a glance at Remus before answering. “Actually, Harry, we wanted to talk to you about him. Would you mind sitting with us for a moment?”

Harry nods curiously, and follows Sirius into the living room, sitting between him and Remus on the couch. Remus grabs a photo album off of the shelf behind them. He flips until he lands on a picture of the Potters, shortly after Harry was born.

“Do you recognize these people?” Lupin asks, not sure what he’s hoping to get for an answer.

Harry studies the picture for a moment, then shakes his head. “No, I don’t think so.”

“These are my godson’s parents,” Sirius says softly. “They died nearly eight years ago.”

Harry blinks. “So… the whole family died?”

Remus nods.

Harry bites his lip. “I’m sorry, that’s horrible.” He hesitates for a moment. “Um, what were their names?” He didn’t miss the fact that neither man answered the question the first time. He’s used to grown-ups ignoring his questions, so he’s just hoping they won't be mad that he’s asked again.

“This is James,” Remus says carefully, gesturing to the man in question. “And that,” he says, pointing to the woman, “is his wife, Lily.”

Harry’s eyes snap back to the picture. “Lily?” he asks softly. “I think… I think that was my mum’s name, too.” His eyes trace the picture carefully, and dares toa sk one last time. “What—what was his name?”

Remus reaches over behind Harry’s head to place a hand on Sirius’s shoulder.

Sirius nods at the unspoken request.

“His—his name is Harry, and this is the Potter family,” Sirius finally says, watching Harry carefully.

Harry blanches.

Then, he stands abruptly.

“That’s not—that’s not funny,” he starts weakly, but his temper is rising. “I don’t know what kind of trick you guys—”

“It’s not a trick,” Remus interrupts. “We know this is hard, but, Harry, this is you. You are Sirius’s godson.”

“No, Sirius’s godson is dead,” Harry argues.

Sirius shakes his head. “That’s what we thought, but then—you—we did a test on your blood to check your identity, Harry, and the test confirmed it. You are Harry Potter, son of James Potter, my best friend.”

Harry shakes his head frantically. “No, no, that’s not—” He bites the words off. “How—why—I don’t believe you.”

Remus stands, trying to offer comfort. “Harry, I swear to you, this is the truth.”

Harry steps back, avoiding Remus’s outstretched hand. “You guys—you guys are crazy,” he pants. “No, I should have known—this was too good for—no, no, no.” He turns and bolts out of the room. Startled, it takes the men a moment to go after him.

Harry’s halfway across the front lawn by the time Sirius gets to the front door.

“Harry, please—” he calls out, but it’s too late. There’s a loud crack, and the boy is gone.

“Fuck,” Sirius bites out. “Fuck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ALSO ALSO: guess who just had to get tested for COVID?? Spoiler: its me, and im lowkey (high key) terrified.


	4. Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please I promise I'll do anything, just let me come back
> 
> IMPLIED ATTEMPTED SEXUAL ASSAULT IN THIS CHAPTER

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUESS WHO TESTED NEGATIVE FOR COVID!!!! AND NOW GETS TO SUBMIT PAPERWORK FOR EMERGENCY PAID LEAVE FOR THE TIME I HAD TO STAY IN QUARANTINE WHILE WAITING FOR RESULTS!! 
> 
> THIS BITCH!!!!! 
> 
> IM HEALTY
> 
> anyway this chapter is kinda short but i was itching to post something so ooops

“Fuck,” Sirius says again.

Remus closes his eyes, takes a breath, and then opens them again. “He apparated?”

Sirius nods. “That—that could have gone better,” he says weakly.

“Could it? Look at how his life has gone so far. I’m not sure there was any way to avoid panic.”

Sirius considers this. “I suppose.”

“Now, the only question is, where would he have gone?”

“Only one way to find out,” Sirius says. “You ready?”

Remus locks the front door behind him, stepping out to stand next to Sirius. “Ready.”

“Alright then,” Sirius says, pulling out his wand. “ _Point Me Harry Potter.”_

* * *

It takes them nearly three hours to find him.

Finally, they round a corner, and see a mass of curly hair.

Sirius holds his hand out, stopping Remus from walking further. “Hey,” he whispers, gesturing.

Remus sees Harry a few seconds later.

Then, they both realize what’s happening.

Harry’s up against the side of a building, which is fine. What’s not fine is the fact that he’s been pinned by a man at least three times his size. One of the man’s hands is hovering over Harry’s throat. The other is—is down Harry’s pants.

Sirius doesn’t even take a second to think.

“Hey!” He hollers, running towards the two of them. “Hey, get the fuck off of him!”

The man looks over, but doesn’t remove his hands. “I’m paying, asshole. Wait your turn.”

Harry hasn’t looked up yet, but Sirius can tell he’s crying.

“I don’t give a fuck, he’s a kid,” Sirius replies. By now, he’s behind the man, hauling him away from Harry. He shoves the guy away, sending him to the ground. Before the man can react, Remus is there, standing over him threateningly.

“I suggest you go, before I get the police involved, or decide to handle you myself,” he says evenly. The man gets to his feet and makes a hasty exit.

Remus lets out a sigh of relief. He turns to see Sirius checking Harry over, making sure he’s not hurt. Harry seems to be fine physically, but his whole body is shaking, and he won't look Sirius in the eye. 

“You, you came after me?” Harry says, obviously confused.

“Of course we did,” Sirius says gently. “You scared us, running out like that.”

“I—I’m sorry,” Harry says, suddenly desperate. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said those things. Please, please forgive me, I’ll do anything. Please let me come back, I’m so sorry.”

Sirius doesn’t even hesitate. He wraps Harry in a giant hug, one hand running through Harry’s hair. “You can always come back, Harry. Always.”

* * *

The second run-through of the conversation goes a lot better, all things considered.

“So… Dundlemore or whoever, he lied? About everything?” Harry asks, sipping the mug of hot cocoa Sirius had made him. He's wrapped in a knitted blanket on the couch, between ythe two men once again. 

Sirius nods. “Dumbledore lied to everyone, told everyone you had died. I swear we didn’t know, Harry. I swear.”

Harry sets down the mug, and picks up the photo album, flipping through the pages.

“I—I’m really your godson? This isn’t a trick?” He wants to believe it so badly. Wants to believe that he can have this, have a family. He doesn't know what he'll do if it's ripped away from him now. 

“You really are,” Remus says. “We—we can tell you the rest, about what really happened that night, but the important part is that Voldemort is dead, and you are ours, now. You don’t ever have to go back to the muggles, ever.”

“But… but why did he give me to Aunt Petunia, instead of you?” Harry asks.

“I don’t know if we’ll ever really know for sure, Harry. For now, we just know that he was wrong, but he didn’t know what the muggles were going to do to you.” The lie twists in Sirius's belly. He hasn't shared this with Remus, but he has a feeling Dumbledore knew, or at least suspected, that the muggles weren't going to be a loving home for Harry. Something about how Dumbledore spoke about the boy sounded more like he was discussing a tool than an actual child. 

“But he knew after,” Harry says, looking up from the pictures. “He found me in that shelter, he must have known.”

“It seems to be that way,” Sirius agrees.

Harry sighs. “Okay, then,” he says. “What now?”

Remus laughs despite himself. “Now, Harry, we make up for eight years of lost time.”

* * *

It’s Sirius who has the idea to contact Minerva McGonagall for help with Harry’s magic.

It’s mid-august by now, a few days after Harry had run away. He’d confessed that he hadn’t actually meant to apparate, he was just desparate to put space between himself and the two men. In fact, the days go on, it becomes more and more evident that Harry's accidental magic is more dangerous than most children's. 

Remus isn’t quite sure how to help Harry get a handle on his magic.

“McGonagall will help us,” Sirius says confidently. “I was always her favorite student, and we all know she loved Lily.”

“You don’t think she knew what Dumbledore was doing, do you?” Remus ventures reluctantly.

Sirius shakes his head. “No. She wouldn’t—after what she did about my parents, I can’t believe she would leave Harry to fend for himself.”

Remus nods, and squeezes Sirius’s shoulder comfortingly. It’s always hard for Sirius to talk about what his parents did to him. Yelling, swearing, and ranting about how awful they were, sure, but actually talking about the abuse itself is rare from Sirius.

“Alright, then,” Remus says. “I’ll send her an owl.”

* * *

McGonagall comes over the next day. Remus hadn’t told her what the visit was about, instead just saying that they needed her help with something.

McGonagall goes white the instant she sees Harry.

“Merlin’s beard, Mr. Lupin, is that—” She breaks off, eyes fixed on Harry’s face.

Harry stands frozen, not having anticipated this reaction. He knew that once word got out, people would stare, but as far as he knows, this woman hasn’t ever met him before.

“I found him, or rather, he found me, about a month or so ago,” Remus says. “Right before his birthday, although he didn’t know that at the time.”

McGonagall immediately grasps the implications of this. “How bad?”

“He ran from the muggles about three years ago. He’s been on the streets ever since.”

The Professor’s nostrils flare angrily. “Dumbledore did this, I presume?”

“Put him with Petunia,” Sirius confirms.

“Bastard,” she spits out angrily, before stepping towards Harry.

Harry takes an automatic step backwards, but then stops. Remus and Sirius trust this woman. After what they did to the man in the alley, he can’t believe they’d invite this woman over if she was going to hurt him.

“You’re… you’re the trans—transfi—transfigimation teacher?” he asks hesitantly.

“Transfiguration,” the woman corrects gently. “My name is Professor McGonagall, and Misters Black and Lupin here told me that you have quite a bit of magic you can’t control?”

Harry nods. “Nice to meet you, Professor. I’m Harry. And, um, yeah. Remus says you might be able to help me…?”

By the time an hour has passed, McGonagall has gotten over her shock, and is tackling the problem like she would with any other underage wizard.

Unfortunately, Harry is not any other underage wizard. “I’ve never seen this much talent for wandless magic, especially not in someone too young to even have a wand,” she admits.

“How can we help him get a handle on things?” Sirius asks. “Intentional wandless magic is fine, impressive even, but the accidental magic seems to be way more powerful than I’ve ever seen.”

McGonagall nods. “You aren’t going to like this, but my honest recommendation is to petition Hogwarts to let him start early.”

“You mean petition Dumbledore,” Remus says flatly. “I’m not about to ask him for any favors.”

“Let me take care of that,” McGonagall says.

Sirius interrupts. “Are you seriously saying that the only way to protect him, and us, is to send him to Hogwarts two years early? Doesn’t that seem extreme?”

McGonagall sighs. “You see, most muggle-borns, or even just any underage wizard, doesn’t have cause to use their magic at such a young age. Accidental magic happens in times of intense emotion. It seems that Harry’s… unique… background has involved a lot more desperation and need than most children. Most of the magic he can do stems from self-protection. Being able to fix things, make things bigger or smaller, being able to apparate, and obviously, the light production… these are all survival tools. Most children don’t need that. But since Harry did need them, and figured out how to use them, it’s unlikely that he’ll be able to tamp down accidental, or intentional, magic without proper instruction. He needs Hogwarts, I’m afraid.”

Sirius blows out a long breath. Harry watches the exchange quietly, not sure how to help with the decision.

“Um,” He starts. “If me using my magic is bad, I could make it stop?”

Remus shakes his head, but smiles to let Harry know that his input was appreciated. “Trying to squash the magic will only make it explode out more forcefully,” he says. “I agree with the professor.”

Sirius rubs his face. “Alright then.”

McGonagall stands up, heading towards the fireplace. “I’ll take care of Dumbledore. You go get Harry a wand and the basics. I’ll get the books a first-year will need, and they’ll be ready for him when he arrives at the castle.”

With that said, she leaves, the green flames flaring up briefly in her wake.

“So,” Harry says quietly. “I’m going to a magic school?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, i think here is where i start merging with canon? next chapter will start with diagon alley, and we'll go from there. Don't worry, ill be changing a bunch of shit, because fuck dumbledore and all his bullshit, but the general storyline will follow the books. That being said, imma do some creative timeline manipulation. 
> 
> Basically what that means: 
> 
> Harry will start Hogwarts at age nine, two years before he started in canon. However, i didnt really wanna make two years worth of ocs, so i decided that the cast of philosphers/sorcerors stone will be starting at the same time. So, harry, ron, hermione, draco, etc etc will all start at the same time, but harry will just be two years younger. 
> 
> trust me, those two years are gonna be important in later books, even if it seems unimportant now.


	5. Wand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Good luck, Mr. Potter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!
> 
> Sorry it's taken me so long to update this. The world has gone crazy. hopefully now ill be back in the swing of things. Ive been in quite the dry spell in terms of writing, but I think publishing this chapter has really got by juices flowing. Ive got a really solid outline for where I want this all to go. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Much to Harry’s relief, Sirius and Remus decide to cast a glamour on Harry before taking him to Diagon Alley. Other than Dumbledore and McGonagall, no one even knows Harry exists; still, one can never be _too_ careful.

Harry stares at himself in the mirror, more unsettled than he thought he’d be. His eyebrows are thin and neat, and his eyes are a boring brown. His hair is still as wild as ever, but it’s a few shades lighter than usual, to match the slightly lighter tone that the charm gave his skin. The biggest shock is the fact that all of his scars are gone. Remus hadn’t just covered the lightning bolt like Harry had assumed, but the rest of the scars as well. Harry spends several long minutes staring at the right side of his face, poking at the smooth skin.

The only thing that hasn’t changed is the pair of glasses sitting on Harry’s nose. Remus had asked if Harry wanted him to charm those as well, just for fun, but Harry had refused. Sirius taking Harry to actually get his eyes checked (rather than just picking up a dingy second-hand pair, like _some people_ ) had been the first time Harry ever felt that an adult truly cared about his well-being. Not only did Sirius believe Harry that he wasn’t just faking it (again, unlike _some people_ ), but he even made it a priority to fix the issue.

Harry hadn’t actually believed that Sirius was going to _actually spend actual money on something so stupid_ until he was walking out of the shop with the square-framed glasses firmly on his nose. Sirius had even paid _extra_ for a few special charms to prevent them from breaking, fogging up, or getting smudged all the time.

Needless to say, Harry was not going to let anyone touch them, not even Remus.

Remus and Sirius debate wearing glamours as well, but ultimately decide against it. It will be hard enough maintaining Harry’s glamours, without adding more. Besides, this won’t be the first time Remus has accompanied a student to Diagon Alley, having done so half a dozen times with various muggle-borns as a favor to McGonagall.

Once Harry has finished poking at his face, the three finally floo into the Leaky Cauldron. Harry looks around cautiously as Sirius casts a mumbled cleaning charm on their clothes. He’s not very impressed by the dingy atmosphere, and he’s relieved when Sirius and Remus head out to the back.

“Alright, Evan,” Sirius says, eyebrows wiggling at the fake name. Remus rolls his eyes and begins tapping a few bricks with his wand as Sirius continues. “First stop is Gringotts to check on our vaults, and see if we can’t get into yours. Sound alright?”

Harry nods, entirely distracted by the fact that the brick wall has suddenly become an arch. As they pass through, Harry finally registers what Sirius said.

“Wait, what? I have a vault?”

Sirius grins, but gestures to the people milling about and doesn’t explain further.

Remus shakes his head at Sirius’s antics, and leans over, speaking softly. “Your father’s family was an old pureblood family, Harry. As you were the sole benefactor of your parents’ will, you should have access to their vault, provided the goblins are willing to accept you as heir without needing the ministry to void your death certificate.”

Harry nods, biting his lip gently. A nasty thought has started to worm its way into his mind, reminding him that Sirius and Remus have spent a lot of money on him. What happens if Harry can’t get into the Potter vault?

Sirius seems to have realized where Harry’s thoughts are going, and he stops walking abruptly. He turns, kneeling down to be eye level with Harry.

“The money in that vault means nothing to me, pup. I don’t need it, and I don’t want it. Even if you can open it, you still won’t be responsible for paying for anything. What use is it to have me as a godfather if I can’t spoil you?”

Harry looks at the ground, still chewing on his lip. Sirius doesn’t move, seeming to be searching for words.

Remus interrupts softly. “Why don’t we save the Potter Vault for another time? We’ve got a busy enough day as it is, and the glamour will make it too complicated on such a busy day.”

Sirius starts to object, but then realizes what the other man is trying to do. “That sounds good, Moony. That okay with you, kiddo?”

Harry looks up at the two men, searching for any signs of anger. Finding none, he finally agrees. “If you’re sure,” he adds, just in case he was supposed to insist on going to the vault.

Sirius just grins again, and they resume walking to the bank as if nothing had happened.

The trip to Gringotts goes by quickly. Sirius scowls every time a goblin calls him Mr. Black, and Harry laughs when Remus grumbles about a full moon being more comfortable than that cart ride.

Just as they’re leaving, the biggest man Harry has ever seen calls out to Sirius.

“Hagrid!” Sirius greets the man, nearly falling over when Hagrid pats him on the back. Harry flinches at the implication of just how strong this man is. “What brings you to Gringotts?”

“Oh, jus' some business fer Dumbledore,” Hagrid says, missing the dark look that crosses Sirius’s face. “How’s that bike o’ yers?”

Harry raises an eyebrow at the man’s complete lack of subtlety. A glance at Remus assures him that he’s not the only one who noticed. Harry decides to let it go, not wanting to give the giant man a reason to get upset. Harry hasn’t missed the wide berth people are giving Hagrid.

Remus puts a hand on Harry’s shoulder, squeezing it comfortingly. While Harry appreciates the gesture, it unfortunately draws Hagrid’s attention.

“An’ who’s this, then?” He asks, eyeing Harry up and down.

“Evan Lampreys,” Remus says smoothly. “McGonagall asked me to take him so she could meet with a few more muggle-born families this afternoon.”

“A bit young fer Hogwarts, ain’t he?” Hagrid says, looking at Harry again.

Harry resists the urge to duck behind Remus and looks up at Hagrid instead. “No, sir, just haven’t hit my growth spurt yet. I turned eleven in June.”

Hagrid accepts this without issue. “I guess yeh all look short compared to me,” he says, chuckling. “I guess I oughtta finish up this business for Dumbledore. Says it’s mighty important.” It’s clear Hagrid is very proud to have been given the task. 

Sirius and Remus bid the man goodbye, and lead Harry out of the bank.

“Who was that man?” Harry asks once they’re back on the street.

“That’s Hagrid,” Sirius says, “He’s the gamekeeper at Hogwarts.”

“Gamekeeper?”

“He makes sure nothing in the forest ever goes after the students,” Remus says. “And takes care of the Thestrals.”

Sirius snorts. “At least, when he’s not adding even more creatures to the grounds.”

Harry frowns.

“He’s a good man,” Remus says. “His heart’s in the right place, even if he does have some rather unfortunate hobbies.”

Harry nods, deciding to let it go. He’s got better things to think about at the moment.

They start with robes, wanting to get that out of the way. A very pale, very blond boy is leaving the shop with two equally blond adults as Harry enters. The seamstress is frowning after them, but the expression is gone before Harry can wonder about it.

“Sirius Black,” the seamstress greets them. “There’s a face I haven’t seen for a while.”

Sirius smirks. “I just couldn’t resist you any longer, my dearest madam,” he says.

“I’m sure,” the woman says dryly, but Harry can tell she’s pleased.

“Alas, but this visit is not purely for my own benefit,” Sirius says dramatically, stooping to kiss the woman’s hand. “Will you ever forgive me, my love?”

Harry’s eyebrows climb into his hairline, and he looks up at Remus, who just rolls his eyes.

“Evan here needs robes for Hogwarts, I’m afraid,” Sirius says.

The seamstress – Madam Malkin, Harry thinks the sign said—smiles at Harry. “Always a terrible flirt, that one is,” she says. “Don’t pay him any mind.” 

She gestures Harry onto the stool and pulls out a tape measure.

“Minerva came by with another one earlier,” she says to Remus. “Girl didn’t stop asking questions the whole time. Even Minerva looked hard-pressed to answer some of them. Bloody Ravenclaw if I ever saw one. I can see why she split them up this year.”

Remus laughs. “I guess we got the good end of the deal,” he says, winking at Harry.

Sirius flirts outrageously the entire time, and Harry is relieved when they can finally escape the shop. Despite all her dismissals, Madam Malkin seemed to enjoy the attention, turning a mild pink by the end.

After a quick stop in the apothecary to grab what he’ll need for potions, they make their way to the wand shop. Harry doesn’t even try to hide his excitement about it.

“How does this work? Do I just pick a wand?”

Remus laughs softly. “I think you’ll find that the wand picks you,” He says.

Harry frowns. “What does that mean?”

“You’ll see,” is all Remus will say on the subject. Sirius grins at Harry’s frustration, but doesn’t explain either, no matter how many times Harry asks. “It just happens,” he adds unhelpfully.

The moment Harry walks into the shop, all his frustration is forgotten. “Woah.”

“Sirius Black,” a voice says, startling Harry. The man emerges from behind a stack of boxes, still speaking. “Rowan, 14 inches, dragon heartstring. I trust it is still serving you well?”

Sirius nods.

“And you Mr. Lupin,” the man says, turning to face the wizard in question. “10 ¼ inches, cypress, unicorn hair. Still say that was one of the fastest matches I’ve ever seen.”

Remus smiles. “All is well for us, Mr. Ollivander. We’re here for Evan here. Evan Lampreys,” he adds when he sees the question on the man’s face. 

Mr. Ollivander turns to Harry. “Well then, Mr. Lampreys. Let’s get started. Wand arm?”

Harry looks confused for a moment. “What?”

“Your dominant hand,” Remus explains.

“Oh,” Harry says. “Erm, my right hand, I guess.”

“Excellent.” Mr. Ollivander gestures for Harry to hold the hand up as a measuring-tape springs into position. Not bothering to actually look at the measurements, the man turns to his shelves.

“A bit young, aren’t we? Must have some strong magic, then,” he says, not giving Harry time to deny it. “Let’s try… hmmm…” he trails off for a moment, then grabs several boxes.

“Here. Beechwood and dragon heartstring, nine inches.”

He puts it in Harry’s hand. Before Harry can ask what he’s supposed to do, Ollivander is already taking it back.

“No. Here. Maple and phoenix feather, seven inches.”

The wand is again snatched out of Harry’s hand before he can so much as wrap his fingers around it.

“Ebony and unicorn hair, let’s see… no.”

Harry must go through a dozen wands before Ollivander starts slowing down. The man starts carefully examining each one before he sets it in Harry’s hand, but still none seem to satisfy him.

Harry starts counting the discarded wands. At 38, Ollivander claps with glee. “I do say that this is the record, Mr. Lampreys! I do love a difficult customer.”

At 53, Ollivander stops pulling boxes off the shelves. Harry feels a jolt of fear for a moment, wondering if the man has finally given up.

He wants to ask if he just isn’t meant for a wand, but Ollivander whirls to face him before he can get the words out.

“Let’s try something new, Mr. Lampreys. I want you to close your eyes.”

Harry looks at Sirius nervously, but Sirius just nods in encouragement.

So Harry closes his eyes and tries not to fidget too badly.

“Alright. Listen to the shop for a moment, Mr. Lampreys. There is a wand here for you. Reach out your arm, and focus.”

Harry frowns in concentration. He feels—something? A slight tug, but he isn’t sure where it’s coming from. He says as much to Ollivander, who seems pleased.

“The wand is calling to you, Mr. Lampreys. Open your hand, and answer the call.”

Harry frowns again, not really sure how he’s supposed to do that. He opens his hand wide.

 _Okay, then._ He focuses on that tugging again, imagining pulling on a rope that’s caught on something.

Something hits his hand, and Harry jumps.

“Bravo!” Mr. Ollivander cries out, as Harry opens his eyes. He looks down to see a wand clutched in his fist.

“What—?” he says softly, still staring at it.

“Holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches,” Ollivander declares. A strange look crosses the man’s face. “I’d given up on this wand. It’s been 50 years since I forged it.”

He gives Harry a sharp look, but doesn’t say anything more. Harry shifts uncomfortably.

Remus clears his throat after a few moments. Ollivander seems to shake himself, and soon Harry is on his way out of the shop, seven galleons lighter and all the happier for it. He almost misses the man’s farewell.

“Good luck, Mr. Potter.” By the time this registers, the shop’s door has closed behind the next customers, a set of twins with skin only barely lighter than what Harry’s usually is.

Harry whirls to face the shop, mouth slightly ajar. Sirius, having been distracted by stowing away the wand box, frowns. “What’s wrong?”

Remus purses his lips, thinking. “I hope those two girls didn’t hear that,” he says after a moment.

Sirius looks at the shop again. “I missed something.” It’s not a question.

“He called me Mr. Potter,” Harry says, finally turning away.

Sirius grimaces. “Can’t be helped now, I suppose.”

Remus agrees reluctantly.

“Is that everything?” Harry asks, eager to get away from the crowds. He knows it’s all in his head, but he can’t help but feel like the whole street is staring at him.

“I’ve got one last stop,” Sirius says. “You and Remus head to the Leaky Cauldron and floo home; I’ll meet you there.”

Harry nods, so Sirius ruffles Harry’s hair and plants a kiss on Remus before striding off. Remus smiles softly, and soon the two are sat on the couch in their living room. Harry decides he’ll wait to start packing his things away until Sirius gets back.

Harry starts to grill Remus about the Hogwarts houses as Remus removes the glamours. 

Remus is just starting to name the heads of each house when Sirius walks in, carrying a—

“Is that an owl?” Harry asks, blinking at the animal.

“Yes, she is,” Sirius says happily. “Bloody brilliant nimals, Harry. She’ll be quite handy.”

“Don’t you have an owl?” Harry asks. He’s seen Sirius use an owl before, and he knows Remus uses one to send letters to Professor McGonagall.

“Actually, no, we don’t. We use a mail service. It—I’ll explain another time. This beauty isn’t for me and Remus, though.”

Harry frowns in confusion. “But, then why did you get her?”

Sirius takes it in stride. “She’s for you, Harry. Consider this part of a late birthday gift.”

Harry stares at Sirius.

Sirius starts to falter. “I just thought—if you don’t like her—that’s okay! And I know it’s not much for a birthday—” He cuts off his rambling, setting the cage down on the end table. “Harry?”

Harry finally moves, approaching the bird cautiously. He stares at it a few minutes, before realizing his vision has gone slightly blurry.

He whirls around to look at Sirius, who has gone from nervous to concerned.

“I—” Harry says, his voice cracking off. He wipes furiously at his eyes. “No one's ever gotten me a birthday present, is all,” he finishes roughly. He turns back to the bird before he has to see the pity that is sure to come.

Sirius lets out a little noise, and then Harry is being pulled into a hug. It takes him a moment to realize that Remus has joined in as well.

“Well, then,” Sirius says, his own voice slightly gruff. “I’ll just have to start going double every year, yeah?”

Harry laughs, burying his face in the man’s robes.

He thinks he’s the happiest he’s ever been.

* * *

The day before Harry is set to leave for Hogwarts, a bomb is dropped.

The three are sitting down for breakfast, groggily munching on toast. Sirius barely notices an owl come through and drop the morning paper on Remus’s lap.

Remus thanks the owl, putting a few knuts in its pouch. He unfolds the Prophet and promptly chokes on his tea.

“What’s wrong?” Harry asks as Sirius’s head jerks up.

Remus just displays the front page wordlessly.

**Harry James Potter: Alive and Well?**

“Merlin’s pants, that didn’t take long,” Sirius bites out. “What’s it say?”

Remus brings the paper towards himself and starts reading out loud.

“ _Harry James Potter. A name we all know, but a boy we never met. The Potters were all killed by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named on the night of October 31 st, 1981, the same night the dark wizard was defeated by Albus Dumbledore. _

_“Or, that’s what we were told. However, we at the Prophet have it on good authority that Harry Potter is, in fact, alive and well. He's confirmed to be the only soul to have ever survived teh Killing Curse-- from You-Know-Who himself, no less. Sources inside Hogwarts confirm that the boy is scheduled to start this Fall. No, you haven’t done your math wrong—The boy will start at age 9, the youngest wizard to ever enter Hogwarts. It seems that Harry Potter is determined to reenter the wizarding world with a bang._

_“ So where has he been this whole time? It’s likely that the boy was hidden away for safety, to prevent You-Know-Who’s followers from seeking revenge. All we know is that Harry is currently in the custody of his godparents, Sirius Black and Remus Lupin. I wonder if this is the safest place for the boy. After all, the Blacks are a well-known Dark family, with a long history of abuse and cruelty, and Remus Lupin is a registered Werewolf. Surely there must be a better place for our long lost hero?”_

Remus stops reading the article at this point, nose wrinkling in distaste. Harry can’t help but agree.

“Skeeter?” Sirius asks. Remus nods, frown deepening.

“What’s a Skeeter?” Harry asks, pushing his plate away. He doesn’t think he can finish after listening to that.

“Not a what,” Sirius says. “A who. She’s a journalist, if you can really call her that. Enjoys ripping people to shred and publishing the nastiest garbage she can get away with.”

Harry scowls at the paper. “Oh.”

“Oh, indeed.” Remus sighs. “I guess it was only a matter of time. Once you got to Hogwarts, it was going to get out anyway.”

Harry reluctantly nods. “I guess. I still don’t like hearing people talk about us like that.”

“I don’t think anyone really does,” Sirius says ruefully.

* * *

Despite the events of the morning, Harry manages to have a pleasant day. He packs his belongings away in a trunk that used to be Sirius’s – _“can’t believe we forgot to get a trunk, Moony!” “He’ll be fine, Pads. You can get him a new one next year.” –_ and even manages not to ask Remus again if he’s sure Hedwig is a good name for his owl.

Sirius tries to convince him no less than three times that the sorting involves fighting a troll.

Remus assures Harry that he’ll be fine no matter what house he’s sorted into—yes, even Hufflepuff— and Sirius makes unhelpful comments about badgers.

Harry has himself so worked up that it takes him nearly two hours to finally fall asleep in the evening.

“Man, I thought I was bad as an eleven-year-old entering Hogwarts,” Sirius says. “Merlin help those professors try to keep up with a _nine-year-_ old!”

“Sirius,” Remus says exasperatedly. “It’s not like we’re setting a toddler on them. I think he’s a far sight more mature than you were.”

Sirius pouts as he climbs into the bed, exhausted after answering all of Harry’s millions of questions.

“True. I wish he didn’t have to be. Even I didn’t have it as bad as he’s had it.”

Remus goes stiff for a moment, anger boiling as he thinks of both the Dursleys and the Blacks. “He’ll be okay,” he finally says.

Sirius curls up into Remus’s space. “I know. I know, I just worry. It took me ages to feel safe.”

“Yes, but you were returning to those—those devils—each break. He’ll have us.”

Sirius nods speculatively. “Yeah, he’s got us. And Minerva will watch out for him. Even if he wasn’t James’s son, she cares for her lions.”

Remus snorts.

“What?”

“Sirius, you can’t honestly think he’ll be in Gryffindor.”

“What?” This time Sirius is more incredulous than confused. “Why not?” He demands.

“Sirius.” Remus just looks at the other man, eyebrow raised. “He can talk to snakes. He’s survived on the streets for years. Just look at how he was in Diagon Alley. He’s got more cunning and resourcefulness than both of us combined.

Sirius stares at Remus for a second, before realizing what Remus is trying to say.

“No,” he finally groans. “Fucking hell.”

“Surely you know there’s nothing wrong with him being in Slytherin,” Remus admonishes. “You owe Harry more than that. He’d be devastated if he thought you were upset.”

“I don’t care if he’s in Slytherin!” Sirius protests. “But don’t you know what that means?”

Remus frowns in confusion.

“Snape! Remus. Snape’s going to be his head of house!”

“Fuck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so i know this chapter was all mainly one section, but like, that's what was coming out of my brain. i figured id end it here, and leave hogwarst to start its own chapter. Im really exited to bring in the rest of the gang!
> 
> Let me know what you think, and ill see you next time!


	6. train

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I guess that answers that question, then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all. Three things. 
> 
> a) there is a brief mention of a racial slur being used against harry in this chapter
> 
> b) just want to preface this by saying that this will not be a ron bashing fic, per se. (You'll see why I'm clarifying below). 
> 
> C) I'm trying to get myself in the habit of writing is past tense rather than present, to make everything feel more smooth and professional, so this chapter I really tried to buckle down on my verbs. I apologize if there's any confusing tense shifting; I really tried to get it all consistent.

The morning of September 1st is, for the most part, uneventful.

Well, uneventful if compared to the rest of Harry’s life so far.

4:00 found Harry wide awake, the usual nightmares – _a woman screaming, begging, “no, take me, kill me instead,” a high-pitched laugh; a glass shattering, “you’ll regret that, freak,” pain lancing across his face –_ ruining any chances of a restful night.

Not wanting to disturb Remus and Sirius, Harry stays in his bed, wishing that Hedwig would return early from her nightly hunt. His fingers itch to run through her soft feathers, soothing his restlessness. Instead, he took out his copy of _Hogwarts: a History_ and began to read it in the soft light filtering in from his window.

He wasn’t sad to leave this house, per se. He had no real connection to the room, other than the slight awe that he had been given one in the first place. Remus and Sirius had obviously moved to this house after Harry’s supposed death, because there was no sign that they had ever expected a child to stay there. The room itself had clearly been an office, based on the shelves that lined one wall, and the fact that there wasn’t a closet. He wasn’t sure exactly when the transformation had happened, but he guessed that Remus had used magic while he was in the shower that first day.

Despite the rushed origins, the room was pleasant to be in. The walls were a soothing blue, and the shelves were stacked with muggle and magic books alike. Harry was even allowed to read them; all he had to do was tell Sirius or Remus what book he had chosen, so they could double-check that it was appropriate. So far, they had said yes to every title Harry had named. The bed was a modest thing, comfortable, but not over-the-top.

No, it wasn’t the room that made Harry reluctant to leave. It was the people. Remus and Sirius were the first people to ever care about Harry, at least as far as he could remember. After what they had done after Harry tried to run away, he knew he could trust them to protect them. Not even just from other people, either. Just the other day, Sirius had removed an entire portion of the house, just because it made Harry sad.

_(“Hey, Harry, can you grab Mrs. Skower’s from the cupboard?” Sirius asked. “I seem to have melted this pot to the stovetop.” _

_“Grab the what?”_

_“ Mrs. Skower’s All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover. It’s in the hall closet.”_

_“Oh, okay.”_

_Harry jogged into the hall, and then stopped dead when he realized what Sirius meant by ‘hall closet.’ It was the cupboard under the stairs._

_His hand shook as he opened the cupboard door, flinching at the sound of the latch. He took a breath to steel himself before reaching in and flicking on the light. This cupboard was certainly less musty than **his** had been, but the bulb was still bare, and Harry could almost see the threadbare mattress taking up the little bit of floor space in front of the shelves. He skimmed the multicolored labels quickly and grabbed the jar of cleaner, refusing to look anywhere else, lest he somehow see the scribbled crayon above the door frame, marking the space as ‘Hary’s rum.’ _

_He didn’t realize he was crying until Sirius’s blurry form dropped the melted remains of kitchenware._

_“Harry? Harry, what happened?” Sirius’s voice is high, panicked, and Harry realizes that he’s shaking._

_“I—I don’t know,” he manages._

_The commotion summoned Remus from the front room, and the wolf gives Sirius a questioning look as he takes in the situation. Sirius's wide eyes convey all he knows—nothing._

_“Harry,” Lupin begins calmly. “What has you upset right now?”_

_Harry blinks away tears, setting down the bottle of cleaner on the counter. His hands start to mangle the hem of his shirt._

_"The cupboard.”_

_“The cupboard?” Sirius echoes, confused._

_“It has a lock.”_

_A rock drops in both men’s stomachs._

_“Harry, it has a **latch** to stop the door from swinging open on its own.” _

_“It doesn’t—it doesn’t lock?” He looks up at Sirius then, eyes unfocused._

_“No.”_

_“Good,” Harry says, suddenly vicious. “I’m never getting locked in one of those again.”_

_Sirius sputters for a moment. “Who locked you in a cupboard?”_

_Harry freezes, then slumps. “Uncle Vernon.”_

_Remus goes deadly still. “For how long?"_

_“What do you mean?”_

_“When he locked you in the cupboard, how long?”_

_Harry twists the hem of his shirt jerkily, not really aware of the action. “All night,” he admits softly._

_Remus’s eyes flash a brilliant gold for just a second before he manages to tamp down his anger. Sirius just looks weary._

_“You are telling me that your uncle locked you in a cupboard overnight?”_

_Harry cocks his head, frowning. “Usually, yes.”_

_“Usually? He did this more than once?” Sirius asks, dreading the answer._

_“It was every night,” Harry says simply. “And if I did something freaky or burned the food or whatever, he’d do it during the day, too. The cupboard was my bedroom.”_

_Sirius’s face goes white. Remus’s goes red. Harry thinks absently that the contrast is somewhat amusing._

_He explains the cupboard, the small mattress, the army men, and then makes his escape upstairs as quickly as possible. He is done with this. He just wants to forget that Vernon even exists._

_The next time he comes down the stairs, the cupboard door is gone. Not only that, but the cupboard itself simply doesn’t exist anymore, with nothing to suggest it had ever been there._

_Harry’s eyes sting, but this time he welcomes it.)_

No, it is not the house he is nervous to leave, but the people.

* * *

Remus and Sirius finally awoke around 8:00, and Harry had barely read even a chapter of the book, he was so antsy. Thankfully, Remus caught on to his restlessness quickly and let Harry take over “supervising” Sirius in the kitchen.

Supervising, Harry had discovered, meant turning off burners when Sirius forgot and taking spoons out of the toaster before Sirius could turn it on (although Harry had no idea why Sirius thought spoons were meant to go in the toaster). Any time Sirius caught Remus or Harry hovering, he would shoot them dirty looks and mutter about overcomplicated muggle contraptions. “I don’t see how using magic for everything is a bad thing, Moony,” was a frequently overheard complaint.

Nevertheless, breakfast was served without incident, and soon the three were sat down. Harry was picking at his food more than actually eating it, but at least he was trying.

“Are you excited?” Sirius finally asked.

Harry shrugged, still conflicted. “I—I’m excited to learn more magic, yeah,” he said, not looking Sirius in the eye.

“But?” Remus said, trying to prompt Harry into confessing what had him all out of sorts.

“But what if no one likes me?” Harry blurts out, and then instantly turned red. He plowed through, though, wanting to get it all out. “What if everyone just thinks I’m a freak and decide I’m too much trouble or—”

“No one thinks you’re a freak,” Sirius cut in sharply before he can stop himself.

Harry deflates. “I’m gonna be two years younger than everyone else; doesn’t that make me a freak by def- defnition?”

“Def **i** nition,” Remus corrected softly. “And no, it just makes you incredibly talented, pup.”

“But what if all the teachers hate me? None of my teachers ever liked me before! The Dursleys convinced them all I was a liar and a cheat, and none of them even gave me a chance anyway because I was a –” he faltered, biting his lip.

“A what, Harry?” Sirius said.

“Nothing,” Harry said, flushing pink again. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Harry, it does matter, especially if it upset you.” Remus’s voice was kind, but Harry could hear the edge.

He sighed, wishing he had never brought it up. “They called me a Paki bastard, alright?”

Sirius sat bolt upright. “Your parents were married!”

Remus pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. “That’s really not the issue, Sirius.”

“What do you mean?”

“Muggles don’t have the same… hang-ups about wedlock as in the wizarding world. It’s not praised, but people don’t typically get disowned for it anymore. The issue is the first part of that lovely epithet.”

Sirius frowned for a moment, unsure. “Paki? What does that even mean?”

Harry sighed. “It’s short for Pakistani, Sirius. It’s just a way of making sure I know I’m just a dirty foreigner.”

“But you’re not even from Pakistan!” Sirius said, aghast.

“I’m not?” Harry asked, perking up.

“No, pup,” Remus said, smiling. “Your dad was from India. Did no one ever tell you that?”

Harry shook his head. “Petunia said she didn’t know and didn’t care; it wasn’t her job to keep track of her sister’s immigrant lovers.”

Sirius face slowly started to turn red. “She said what?”

Remus cut him off. “Another time, Siri. Harry, what’s important is that those teachers were wrong. No one is going to think you’re dirty, or foreign, or anything else Petunia might have said about you. And if anyone ever does say those things, you go straight to me, Sirius, or another trusted adult. Do you understand?”

Harry nodded, perking up considerably. He felt much better about Hogwarts now, even though it made him feel silly that such a small thing had been bothering him so much.

* * *

The trip to the station was spent mostly in silence, although a comfortable one. Harry was finally looking forward to leaving, having been assured no less than seven times that he would be returning for Christmas.

When they arrived at the station, Remus carefully cast a few Notice-me-not charms on Harry’s trolly, especially Hedwig. When Harry gave him a questioning look, Remus just shrugged and said it’s best not to attract too much attention from the muggles.

Harry nodded, and the three men headed towards the platform. Harry knew what to expect, but it was still a bit of a shock to watch an entire family of redheads disappear through a wall.

“Alright, Harry,” Sirius said. “Shall we?”

Harry nods, and with that, they stepped through the barrier.

Harry stopped short as soon as they reached the other side. “Woah,” he said, looking around in awe.

“Woah, indeed,” Remus said, smiling. “We’ll help you get your trunk in, and then we’ll be off, okay?”

Harry nodded. The two men start levitating his belongings, being extra careful with Hedwig. Harry uses the time to observe the people around him.

“Father, are you sure I can’t bring my broom?” one child asks in a posh voice, but Harry can’t pinpoint who it is. He sees the redheaded family and listens to the chatter of their overlapping voices for a moment.

“Fred, absolutely not, you will not send your sister a toilet seat.”

“I’m George!”

“Sorry dear, but you still can’t send one.”

“I’m not the one who said that; Fred is!”

“Fred!”

Harry snorted softly, and then Remus called him over to an empty carriage. “Here you are, pup.”

Harry nodded his thanks and then surprised all three of them when he grabbed Remus and Sirius into a hug. “I’m going to miss you!” He blurted out before he could stop himself.

“We’re going to miss you too, sprog,” Sirius said, and his eyes were suspiciously wet. “You just say the word, and we’ll storm the castle, alright?”

Harry nodded fiercely, not trusting his voice. He gave the two men one last squeeze, and then reluctantly climbed into the carriage. Sirius doesn’t stop waving until the train has pulled away and out of sight.

* * *

Not ten minutes into the trip, the compartment door opened to three boys standing in the hall. Harry recognized two of them as the twins from earlier.

“Hey, mate,” the third boy said, letting a tarantula crawl over his hands. “Mind if we join you? The rest are full.”

Harry shrugged, eyeing the other two curiously. He had heard their mum mixing them up earlier, and he felt bad for them. He knew what it was like never to hear the right name.

“I’m George,” one of the twins said, as they all came in and sat.

Harry looked at him for a moment, assessing. “No,” he finally says. “You’re Fred. I’m Harry. Nice to meet you. What year are you in?”

“Wait, hang on,” George protested. “How did you know he wasn’t me?”

“He’s wearing a sweater with a ‘G’ on it,” Harry said, gesturing.

“And?” Fred said.

“And,” Harry said slowly, hoping he wasn’t offending them. That’d be just his luck, to offend the first peers he meets without even meaning to. “If I had an identical twin, and my mum had to use a sweater to tell us apart, I’d never wear the right one.”

George turned a bit red, but Fred just chews it over. “That’s fair. I guess we should wear the right ones every so often just to throw people off then,” he pondered aloud.

Harry just shrugged again. The spider boy leaned forward then. “I’m Lee Jordan. What’d you say your name was, again?”

“Harry Potter. Nice to meet you.”

Lee nearly dropped his spider at that. Fred’s face just split into a smile.

“Wicked, mate,” George said brightly.

Lee’s eyes were still a bit too wide to be comfortable.

“So it’s true, then?”

“What’s true?”

“You really did survive. And you really are the youngest to ever enter Hogwarts.”

Harry didn’t want to shrug yet again, so he just quirked his lips. “That’s what they say.”

“Wicked,” George said again.

Just then, another red-headed boy passed by the compartment and stopped dead.

“Holy shit,” he blurted out.

“Go away, Ron.” Fred’s voice was pleasant, but Harry could tell there was real annoyance underneath it.

“No way, that’s Harry Potter.”

“For fuck’s sake, Ron,” George bit out.

Harry just stared at Ron. “So what if I am?”

“Are those from him? The scars, I mean? The paper didn’t say anything about them, so they must be, right?”

At that, Fred stood up and started forward, reaching a hand out to Lee. Harry was confused for a second until the other boy gleefully handed over the spider and sat back to watch.

“Get out, Ron,” Fred said darkly. “You’re out of line.” He purposely let the spider crawl up his arm and onto his shoulder. Ron paled drastically at the sight and was gone a second later.

“I’m really sorry, Harry,” George said as Fred slammed the compartment door angrily, and then sat back down. “He’s not usually that bad.”

“It’s alright,” Harry said. “I’m used to it. The questions anyway, not so much the, uh, awe.”

“He’s right about the papers, though. It’s odd they weren’t mentioned, although that’s probably better for you, not having to hear them talk about ‘em,” Lee pointed out.

Harry turned to Hedwig, stroking a hand through her feathers. The bird had perched on the top of her cage and was sleeping contentedly.

“The papers didn’t say anything because I had them covered up when I went for my school supplies.”

“Oh,” Lee said, understanding. “That makes sense then. I wouldn’t want to see the backlash of them admitting they don’t know how the Killing Curse works.”

“Lee,” George says softly. “C’mon.”

“It’s fine,” Harry said. “I’d rather he be upfront with his curiosity than just sit there staring, or worse, talking behind my back.”

“He could just accept it’s none of his business,” Fred says darkly, but then lets it go, wanting to hear the rest of Lee’s reasoning. “How do you reckon, Lee?”

“Well, it can’t be so instant and painless if it leaves scars like that,” he says, waving his hand at Harry’s face.

Fred started to say something again, but Harry cut him off. “Oh, only this one is from that night,” he explained, lifting his bangs to show the lightning bolt. “The other one is from—something else.”

Lee just raised his eyebrows, and Harry stroked Hedwig again, missing the dark look that the twins' exchange.

* * *

The rest of the trip passed amicably. Harry was eager to spend his pocket money on the trolly, having never seen candy like that before. The twins seemed reluctant to accept the items he offered, but Harry circumvented any embarrassment by saying, “Listen, I’ve never had money to spend or friends to share it with, take the damned treats.”

After that, the boys seemed much more eager to get into an Every Flavor Bean taste-off, and laughter filled the compartment.

Harry, already dressed in the main part of the uniform, only had to get his robes on over it once they approached.

A bushy-haired girl was just passing by, asking about a toad for Neville, the boy walking with her.

“Have you tried summoning it?” Harry asked her, trying to work the buttons on his robes. Fred swatted his hands and quickly did them up, making Harry blush, but no one commented on it.

“I don’t know any summoning charms,” the girl admitted. “I’ve taught myself the first few spells in the charms textbook, but none of those are summoning charms.”

“Oh,” Harry said. “I can do it. What’s your toad’s name, then? I don’t wanna summon every toad in the train.”

Fred shot George a disbelieving look, wondering if Harry was having them on.

“Tr-Trevor,” Neville said.

Harry held his hand out, and then closed his eyes, concentrating. Mere seconds later, a toad whizzed over the girl’s head and into Harry’s hands.

“Is this your toad?” He asked, holding it out to Neville.

“Yeah, thanks!” Neville said brightly, taking the toad gingerly.

“How did you do that?” The girl asked, gaping. “You didn’t even use your wand!”

“Oh, er, yeah,” Harry said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just, really thought about it? It’s like… a tug, I guess, and I just pulled back?”

The compartment was silent for a moment.

“Well, I guess that answers that question,” George finally said.

“What question?”

“Why you’ve come to Hogwarts two years early,” George explained.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so you see, ron is not going to be harry's best friend. in the book, fred and George make kinda a big deal to their mum (and ron) about harry being the one they helped on the platform and with his trunk, and theyre the first to see his scar and tell ron all about it. Well, here, obviously, harry didn't have to go to the weasleys for help, and fred and George didn't help harry with his trunk, meaning they don't know who harry is until after harry makes the observations about their names and their mum, and they can obviously tell somethings up with harry by his scars and his, well, everything. thus, ron never gets a chance to be the first weasley to be friends with harry, and he doesn't realize what kind of person harry is. He goes hunting for the famous harry potter, not really understanding that harry is just another kid. 
> 
> that being said, ron will not be taking the place of draco malfoy as harry's enemy. he will come around, eventually taking a role like Neville (a friend, but not one that harry really spends a lot of time with). I just think that ron's personality isn't as compatible with this harry. if you want me to explain more about that, just let me know. 
> 
> Fred and George are also not going to become harry's best friends. they will be in different houses in different years, harry nine to frend and george's approximate 13 or 14 at the start of the first book. they are simply going to be more involved, as I quite like their dynamic. 
> 
> Any way, I think this was the longest chapter yet and I'm already halfway through the next so I think this story is really taking off. I'm already in the outlining stages for the third book at this point.


	7. Hat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I Don't like your answers, Potter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go! HAve another chapter! SO yes, I am following the outline of the original novels. I am really trying to stay consistent, hence the parallels. However, this isn't just a "everything the same but harry" fic. Things are going to change, plot wise. and they're going to change in a big way. However, the events of the book still happen, just with my own flair. first year just has so many things i wanna explore form an opposing perspective, forgive me! Its just taking me some time to get everything set up.
> 
> Oh, also, in the italics at the end there's mention of sexual assault, but its not graphic.

“Firs’ years! Firs’ years over here!”

Harry found himself on a boat with Neville, the bushy-haired girl, and a skinny black boy with a slight Italian accent.

“I’m Harry,” he greeted the latter two and then nodded his head at the girl. “I don’t think I ever caught your name.”

“Harry Potter?” the black boy asked, his eyebrows going up. “Interesting. I’m Blaise Zabini.”

“Hermione Granger,” the girl said. “Is that scar from He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, then?”

Blaise gave the girl a bemused look. “Where’d you learn to call him that? Aren’t you a muggle-born?”

“From a book,” Hermione said, scowling. Harry cut in before she could say anything else.

“How’d you know she’s muggle-born?”

“Her last name,” Blaise explained. “It’s muggle. There aren’t any wizarding lines with the name Granger. I suppose she could be a half-blood, though. Are you?”

“No, my parents are muggles. Is that a big deal?”

“It is to some people.”

Hermione sniffed, not seeming happy with that answer. “Harry, you never answered my question.”

“No, I didn’t,” Harry said.

Blaise raised his eyebrows again, and Harry got the feeling he made that expression a lot. Before Hermione could protest, they rounded the bend and all four of them just stare up at the castle in awe.

The boats slowly came to a stop and they all got out, still staring at the castle. Harry didn’t take his eyes off the building the entire way to the front door; the appearance of an elderly witch nearly startled him into pitching backwards down the steps.

“Easy, there,” Blaise said, and put a hand out to stop Harry’s fall. Harry heard a shrill giggle from somewhere behind him and flushed a deep red.

“Professor McGonagall!” Harry blurted out. The witch in question gave Harry a bemused smile and a wink, and then continued welcoming everyone into Hogwarts to stand right outside the Great Hall. 

“In a few moments, you will be sorted into your houses,” McGonagall said evenly. “The four houses are Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each house is distinct, and acts as your surrogate family while you are here. Your individual accomplishments will contribute to the success of your house; your shortcomings will equally affect your house’s standing in the competition for the house cup. The winners are determined based on how many points the house earns throughout the year. You will find that it is much easier to earn points than to lose them, so keep that in mind whenever you do inevitably lose points.”

Harry swallowed hard.

“I suggest you all spend the next few minutes preparing yourselves for the sorting. Remember that the whole school will be watching.”

With that, McGonagall turned on her heel and walked into the hall.

“How’d you know the professor?” Hermione asked Harry as soon as the witch was gone.

“She, uh, she’s the one who brought me my letter,” Harry lied, aware that most of the students around him were listening. He shrugged, not wanting to go into too much detail about his magic, and he knew that it was common for the witch to deliver letters to children outside of the wizarding world.

Someone behind him snorted. “I wish she’d lost it,” sneered a blonde girl.

Harry stiffened. “Excuse me?”

The girl stepped forward. Blaise leaned over and murmered, “Pansy Parkinson.” Harry gave a curt nod to show he heard, but didn’t respond.

Pansy sneered again. “Well, I certainly don’t want to be stuck with a child! Imagine having to share a dorm with him! He looks like he’s six! I bet he still cries for his parents in the night!”

A pale boy with nearly white hair spoke up then. “Parkinson, you do know who he is, right?” 

“A muggle-born, no doubt. Look at him!”

The boy – Draco Malfoy, according to Blaise—arched an eyebrow. “If I’m not mistaken, you just mocked _Harry Potter for_ missing his parents, Parkinson. Surely you’re not that cold.” He caught Harry’s eye and gave a slight nod.

Pansy went a little pale but recovered smoothly. “Oh, so that’s why you look six. I’m Pansy Parkinson. I’m sure you understand the confusion.” She held out a hand as if wanting Harry to shake it.

Harry eyed the hand skeptically. “I’m sure I don’t, actually.” He stepped past her and offered a hand to the pale boy. He didn’t really like the over-done formality, but he figured shaking someone else’s hand was the best way to make his point to Pansy that he wasn’t interested in her ‘friendship.’

“Harry Potter,” He said firmly. “I like your pin.”

“Draco Malfoy,” the boy said, looking down at the pin in question. It’s a small silver snake, curled up right below his collar. The eyes sparkled deep red, and Harry wouldn’t be surprised to learn they were actual rubies. “Thanks.”

Harry nodded, and then turned back to Blaise, ignoring Pansy’s gaping mouth.

Blaise let a smile cross his face. “This year is going to be very interesting,” he said.

Before Harry could ask what he meant, McGonagall entered the room again.

“Follow me.”

The students marched into the Great Hall as one unit. Harry heard several people gasp at the room, and he wasn’t far from doing the same. He absently heard Ron Weasley say something about facing a troll, and snorted. Hermione said something about the ceiling, and Harry couldn’t help but look up.

“That’s impressive,” he had to admit.

“What is?” Malfoy said from somewhere on his right.

“The ceiling. If I hadn’t known it was an enchantment, I’d think we were outside.”

Draco nodded, but then the group stopped, and Harry saw it.

The Sorting Hat was sitting on a stool just ahead of them. Harry swallowed nervously, taking it all in.

“What happens if the hat can’t decide?” he asked Blaise.

Blaise shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t think that’s ever happened before. The longest anyone’s taken is 12 minutes and they were about ready to pull the hat off when it finally spoke up.”

Unsurprisingly, that didn’t really help Harry’s nerves.

Neither did the hat’s song, as it turned out. He felt like nearly any of those traits could belong to him, except maybe Gryffindor. He was far too good at running away to be considered brave and daring.

“When I call your name, please step forward to be sorted,” McGonagall said sharply, and then it began.

“Abbott, Hannah!”

_"HUFFLEPUFF!"_

The same went for "Bones, Susan", but Terry Boot was Ravenclaw, along with Mandy Brocklehurst. Lavender Brown went to Gryffindor. 

The first Slytherin was Millicent Bulstrode, calling Harry’s attention to that table. He could hear Draco muttering about the Bulstrodes, seeming confident he’d end up at that table as well. “Crabbe, Vincent,” followed her shortly after, and Harry shuddered, the boy’s hulking form reminding him of what he pictured Dudley to be like now.

Blaise ignored “Finch-Fletchley, Justin” going to Hufflepuff in favor of complaining about being at the end of the alphabet.

“Draco and I already pretty much know we’re guaranteed Slytherin,” he explained. “Parkinson, too, but who cares. I hate having to stand here when I already know what table I’ll be at.”

Harry just hummed nervously, watching an Irish boy (he’d missed the name) going to Gryffindor after a minute under the hat.

Hermione was up next, and Harry shot her a smile on her way by. He didn’t really like her incessant need to ask questions, but he also knew how hard it was to adjust to such a huge change. He’d asked Remus and Sirius loads of questions, as it was.

The hat spent nearly three minutes on her. Blaise rolled his eyes, starting to say something just as the hat declared " _RAVENCLAW"._ Harry clapped along with everyone else, watching Hermione beam on her way to the table. He had had no doubts about what house she belonged in, but he did wonder what made the hat take so long.

“Goyle, Gregory,” was another Dudley reminder, and he, too, went to Slytherin.

Neville nearly ran off with the hat after it declared him a " _HUFFLEPUFF",_ and Harry realized he still had no ideas where the hat might place him.

Another name went by, and then it was Draco’s turn. The boy stuck his nose high, not sparing a glance to anyone as he approached. His confidence hadn’t been misplaced—the hat declared him a _SLYTHERIN_ less than 10 seconds later.

“Nott, Theodore,” and “Parkinson, Pansy,” went to Slytherin right after, and a set of twins (Patil and Patil) shook things up by splitting into two houses (Gryffindor and Ravenclaw).

Harry started to ask if it was unusual for twins to split up, but then he heard “Potter, Harry!”

He gulped, stepping forward softly. He could hear people starting to whisper.

“It’s true, it’s him!”

“Did I look that little when I was nine?”

Harry did his best to block them out, and then the hat was covering his eyes.

**_Harry Potter, eh? There’s been a lot of buzz around you, boy. Makes it hard to sort when all anyone wants is to meet you._ **

_Sorry_ , Harry thought sheepishly.

**_No matter. Let’s see what we’ll do with you._ **

The hat was silent for a long time, but Harry got the distinct impression that something was rifling around his head.

 ** _Hmmm,_** the hat finally said. **_You’re quite a tricky one. I don’t think I’ve ever sorted someone so young. Have anything to say for yourself?_**

 _I just want to belong somewhere,_ Harry thought. _I want to learn magic and be safe._

**_That’s all, child? No lust for power, no need to prove yourself?_ **

_I’ve already got power, I guess. Or at least people decided I do. I want respect, or fear if needed. Mikey was scared of me in the shelter, that kept him from touching me._

**_Ah, I see. Well, then. It appears we’ve made our choice. Yes, I’m sure of it now. You’ll do great in “SLYTHERIN”_ **

The last word was shouted into dead silence. It appeared Harry had taken long enough to make everyone apprehensive, and he could see the clear shock on everyone’s face. There were a few more beats as he set the hat down and began to step away, and then the entire Slytherin table broke into loud, but somehow controlled, applause. Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff quickly followed.

Harry turned to see Fred and George clapping loudly at the Gryffindor table, but they seemed to be the only lions doing so. Wait, no. Another red-head was also clapping, but his expression made Harry think he felt like he had to, not that he wanted to.

Harry pushed that aside, turning to the Slytherin table. He sat down hesitantly next to Malfoy, not wanting to join Pansy on the opposite side, where his back would be facing the rest of the hall. Draco nodded at him, beaming.

“Bet no one thought you’d be a Snake!” He said cheerfully.

Harry let the tension go from his shoulders. “Guess I just can’t resist shaking things up.”

Draco laughed, and Harry felt a pleasant warmth spread across his face.

“At least at this table, you won’t have a thousand idiots asking what the Dark Lord looks like,” Draco said, watching another girl join Revenclaw.

“People can’t honestly expect me to remember that, can they?” Harry asked, frowning.

Draco shrugged. “Probably not, but I heard the Weasley first year saying something about it during Goyle’s sorting.”

Harry wrinkled his nose. Said Weasley was currently sitting under the hat, and Draco rolled his eyes at the unsurprising declaration of _“GRYFFINDOR.”_

Blaise was next and swiftly took a spot on Harry’s other side, leaning in to bump shoulders briefly.

Harry smiled and then turned his attention to the Head Table, where a wizard with the longest beard Harry had ever seen was standing up.

“That’s Dumbledore, right?” Harry asked softly, receiving a nod from either side of him.

“Welcome to a new year!” The man called out. “I would like to say a few words. Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Let the feast begin!”

Harru narrowed his eyes. “What the heck is that about?”

Blaise chuckled softly. “Who knows. Greengrass tells me he says basically the same thing each year.”

Harry wants to ask who Greengrass is, but he’s delayed by the arrival of food on the table.

“Holy shit!” he blurts out, watching the food pop into existence.

Draco startles next to him. “What?”

“The food appeared out of nowhere!”

Blaise shook his head. “No, it’s from the kitchens. House-elves send it up like that.” He sees the question on Harry’s face. “House-elves are magical creatures. Their magic gets stronger when they are bonded to a wizard, and in return, they serve the wizard. Hogwarts elves have particularly strong magic thanks to the castle itself being so magical.”

“Oh,” Harry said. He was still just staring at the food.

“Well, don’t just look at it, Potter,” Draco laughed. “Eat!”

Harry eagerly started to pile food onto his plate. He slowed down after he saw Bulstrode’s surprised expression, but he could tell he had taken more than his size would suggest.

“Got some big eyes, there,” a pretty brunette said from several places up. Harry looked towards her, not sure whether to be embarrassed or not.

“Not really,” he said, not pausing his motions to cut his steak. “Just still getting used to having this much food around and being allowed to eat it.”

Draco stiffened next to him, but no one says anything. Harry could tell something he said upset Draco, but he was too engrossed in his potatoes to care.

The girl leaned forward. “You’re Harry Potter, right? I’m Daphne Greengrass. I’m one of Slytherin’s prefects.” Well, that answered that question. He wondered how Blaise knew her.

Harry nodded, taking care to swallow before speaking. “Nice to meet you. What is a prefect?”

“Oh,” Daphne said, considering. “We’re basically student officers, I suppose. We help keep the lower years in line so that the Head of House doesn’t have to address every little issue directly.”

“That makes sense,” Harry said, and went back to his food. He realized a little too late that he’d fallen into his old habit of protecting his plate. He hoped people would chalk that up to his age, and not go snooping any further.

Just as he was starting to relax again, a translucent figure floated up through the table right in front of his plate.

“Fuck!” Harry bit off. Greengrass looked like she was going to reprimand him for a second, but apparently decided to let it go.

Harry took a better look at the ghost, and then brightened.

“Hey, we match!” he declared.

The ghost gave him an offronted look. “I beg your pardon?”

Blaise gave Harry a wide-eyed look, clearly wondering how a nine-year-old gets the guts to speak to a blood-covered ghost.

“We match,” Harry said again, and this time he gestured to the ghost’s face. Indeed, a large scar split the ghost’s face much like his own. The ghost tilted his head, assessing Harry for a moment.

“Indeed we do, Mr…”

“Potter,” Harry supplied. “Harry Potter. What was your name?”

“They call me the Bloody Baron,” the ghost said stiffly.

Harry did not take the bait, realizing the ghost hadn’t meant it as such. Clearly that was the name the Baron considered appropriate. 

“How’d you get your scar?” Harry asked instead.

The ghost stiffened, somehow, despite not having any mass. “And what do I learn in return, Mr. Potter?”

The rest of the table was gaping at Harry at this point. Clearly, no one had ever had the gall to ask the ghost that kind of question.

“I can tell you how I got mine!”

“And is that a secret?”

“Well,” Harry said, thinking about it for a moment. “No one in the castle knows how it happened, not even the professors.”

The Baron pondered this. “Perhaps I will tell you,” he finally decided. “Your story had better be worth it, Mr. Potter. I am slightly interested to learn how a boy so small ends up with a scar so large.”

Harry grinned. “How about this one, too?” He pulled up his sleeve, showing off a peculiar set of three identical circular burns arranged in a line just below his left elbow.

“That would suffice, Mr. Potter. I haven’t seen wounds like that before.”

The rest of the table had gone past gaping and moved into dead silence. The Baron seemed aware of this but was clearly too intent on his conversation with Harry to let it disturb him. Harry knew that he would be telling the whole table, in practicality, but this give-and-take with the ghost was amusing, and he knew the story would get out eventually, anyway.

“I got mine from muggles,” Harry offered. “This one,” he pointed to his face, lifting the end of his curls just to be safe, “was from a shard of broken glass.” He gestured to his arm. “Do you know what a cigarette is?”

The ghost shook its head.

“Oh, well, it’s.. it’s a muggle thing. You smoke it, and it tastes kinda bitter, but it makes your head feel all buzzy and stuff. Anyway, it works ‘cause it’s paper and you light the end on fire to make the stuff inside burn. These are from the ends getting pressed on my skin.”

Draco gasped. “Someone burnt you?”

Harry nodded, but looked up at the Baron expectantly. “Good enough?”

“You and I will have a talk at some point about the circumstances of each of those, I think,” The baron said unhappily. “But yes. Mine was from a dagger, and I did it to myself in a fit of rage and sorrow.” These words felt different to Harry, like he was the only one hearing it. A look around confirmed this; no one was reacting.

“How did you do that?”

The Baron simply raised an eyebrow, turning and floating away.

Harry shrugged to himself, sitting back and watching the remnants of his plate fade away.

Draco spoke up from beside him. “Did he tell you?”

Harry nodded. “Yeah, but I’m not telling you. You’ll have to find out for yourself.”

* * *

The Head Table was as silent as the Slytherin one as Harry spoke with the Baron.

“Did—Did the Baron just agree to tell a first year how he got his scars?” Professor Sprout asked faintly.

Flitwick nodded solemnly. “Yes, I believe he did.”

Snape watched Potter pull his sleeve up, gesturing to three circular scars. He recognized them instantly, having two of his own on his right bicep.

“I do believe those are from a muggle cigarette,” Severus murmured softly.

Poppy grimaced. “I suppose you’ll be bringing him in, then, Professor?”

Dumbledore cut in. “The boy is being taken care of enough at home, Poppy. I don’t think he needs any more attention here.”

Snape frowned. “Headmaster, if the boy is in an unstable home—”

“The boy,” Dumbledore said firmly, “Is now with his godfathers, and has been for several weeks. I’m sure they’ve treated any issues.”

McGonagall pursed her lips, making an unhappy sound in the back of her throat.

“I-if only w-we c-c-could hear th-them speak-k,” Quirell stuttered. “I-I’d l-like to know h-how he g-g-got the on-ne on his-s face.”

“I daresay the whole school will know by curfew,” McGonagall said tersely. “Now stop staring at the boy, Quirinus. You’re making him twitch.”

* * *

Harry rubbed his lightning bolt distractedly, wondering what had made it hurt like that. He’d been watching the Head Table for a few seconds, having noticed a man with a turban staring at him.

“Who’s that?” he asked Blaise.

“Who’s who?”

“The man in the turban. He keeps staring at me.”

“Oh,” Blaise said. “I think that’s Professor Quirell. He teaches Defense Against the Dark Arts. Maybe he thinks you’ll have some tips for him.”

Draco snorted.

“And who’s the man next to him?” Harry asked. The man in all black wasn’t staring at him like Quirell, but all the same, Harry knew when he was being watched.

“That’s Professor Snape,” Draco said happily. “He’s the Head of Slytherin.”

“Oh!” Harry said. “Is he nice?”

Draco laughed dryly. “I don’t think nice is the right word, no. He’s fair, and he definitely cares about us, but no, nice isn’t a word people use.”

“How do you know so much?” Harry asked, realizing Draco was talking as if he’d met the man before.

Draco went slightly pink. “He’s… an associate of my father.”

Harry frowned, as Draco was obviously leaving something out. He shoved it away, not wanting to call Draco a liar without more evidence.

Soon, Dumbledore was standing again. The Hall went silent once more.

“First years should know that the forest is forbidden to all students. That reminder is also directed at a few older students.”

Harry could swear that Dumbledore was looking directly at Fred and George, who both took a dramatic bow in their seats.

Dumbledore gave another couple of small housekeeping reminders, and then:

“The third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to anyone who does not wish to die an especially unpleasant death.”

Harry stared up at Dumbledore dumbly. “That can’t seriously be all he’s going to say about that,” he said, stunned. “What happens if someone gets lost?”

Draco made a face at the Head Table. “I guess we’ll find out when someone does,” he said. “Don’t let it be you, and there’s no need to worry.”

Harry grimaced. “I guess.”

Harry did, however, flat out refuse to sing the song.

“No,” he said when Pansy tried to bait him into it. “I do not sing.”

Blaise rolled his eyes and gave Harry a friendly shove, which nearly knocked Harry to the ground.

“Oops,” Blaise said, looking chagrined. “I forget how small you are, Potter.”

Harry pouted for a second, but brightened when it was time to head to the dorms. He was eager to find out where he would be spending the next seven years of his life.

* * *

He was not disappointed. The common room was beautiful. The walls were stone, with snakes carefully etched onto various surfaces. There was a large window on one wall, which didn’t make sense, as they were underground. Harry quickly realized that the window must be looking into the lake, which he thought was very cool.

The boys’ room was even better, however. The six beds were arranged in two rows, facing each other. He wondered if there were usually the same number of new Slytherins each year, or if the castle had a special way of knowing how many beds it would need. He supposed logistically the first made more sense, but something told him that each new bed appeared as each boy got sorted. Harry was quite used to sharing a space in the shelter, and was quick to claim one of the beds at the very end of the room, closest to another window looking into the lake. His trunk appeared at the end moments after he sat on it.

“Woah,” he said, reaching out to stroke the plush curtains that surrounded the full-sized mattress.

Draco, having claimed the next bed opposite Harry, sighed. “It’s not as big as my bed at home, of course, but I will admit that the curtains are a nice touch, especially since we’ll be forced to share.”

Harry shrugged a shoulder, leaning over to open his trunk. This was the biggest bed he'd ever been in. “Sharing isn’t so bad once you get used to it,” he said, grabbing his pajamas.

One of the Dudley boys (Goyle, he thought) frowned. “How would you know?”

Harry looked up, confused. “What do you mean?”

Goyle frowned again. “Haven't you been in hiding all this time? When did you ever have to share?”

“I haven’t been in hiding,” Harry said, amused. “You all just thought I was dead.”

Theodore Nott spoke for the first time. “So then, where were you?”

Harry cocked his head, considering. “Why does it matter?”

“We’re just curious,” Blaise admitted. “But you don’t have to tell us, not if you don’t want to.”

Nott threw Blaise a dirty look. “Speak for yourself, Zabini.”

Blaise glared at the other boy. “He;s already shared quite a bit, tonight, don’t you think?”

Nott flushed red. “Oh, I guess.”

Harrry looked at the boys, bemused. “I know it’s not bad sharing because I spent eight months sharing a room with about 20 people. Six is nothing after that!”

He left to find the bathroom, leaving the room stunned behind him; Theodore, Draco, and Blaise all just stared after him in horrified confusion.

“20 people?” Draco blurted out, just as Harry was returning, now changed into a pair of cotton pants and one of Sirius’s shirts that the man had apparently stuck into trunk. Harry wasn't going to complain. He liked having such a tangible reminder of home.

Harry nodded. “20. Although, by the time I left, I’d driven out a good five or six of them.”

“Why were 20 people all in one room?” Blaise asked, just as Nott was saying, “No way you drove out six of them!”

Harry looked from one to the other. “Well, it was a homeless shelter,” he admitted softly. “I had just turned seven I think, since it was late summer, and I had run away from my muggle family a while back. Anyway, the six guys tried to mug me, so I finally set a snake on them!”

“What’s a homeless shelter?” Draco asked innocently, while Theodore seemed to be stuck on the fact that Harry only thought he was seven. “And what does that mean, mug you?”

Harry grinned at Draco. “A homeless shelter is where you go when you don’t have a house or nowhere to stay. I had to bounce around to avoid getting taken to an orphanage. I’d rather eat and sleep in the street than go back to one of those! And I dunno, they tried to beat me up and steal my stuff.”

Blaise gaped at Harry. “People tried to steal from a seven-year-old?”

“Well, I was just a tiny little black boy with a huge scar down his face, so I guess they thought I was easy pickings.”

Draco wrinkled his nose. “Muggles.”

Harry shrugged again. “They weren’t all bad. Sometimes people gave me food, and helped me find places to get better clothes and stuff.”

Theodore seemed kind of pale at this. “I think… I think I'm done asking questions, Potter. I don’t really like any of your answers.”

With that, the room went quiet again, and Harry climbed into his bed, relishing the soft covers. He pulled the curtains shut on the sides facing the other boys, leaving the window-side curtain open.

He fell asleep watching the silhouette of a giant squid slide across the glass.

_________

_He wakes to a hand over his mouth, preventing him from crying out._

_He tries anyway, because he can feel another hand dipping into his pants._

_"_ _Let me go!” he shouts into the palm. A man laughs, and Boy’s blood goes cold when he recognizes Mikey’s voice._

**_No no no no no!_ ** _He thinks._

_Mikey wants—wants to fuck him. Boy doesn’t want that, he gets that enough outside of the shelter. This isn’t fair! Mikey is supposed to be a good guy! He works at the shelter, he should be helping Boy!_

_“Be strong, Harry,” a woman’s voice says in his head._

_Boy squints his eyes against the tears as Mikey’s hand finds what it wants._

_He desperately squirms, trying to escape the grip, but Mikey just squeezes harder and Boy’s vision goes blurry from the pain. Boy’s pants are down around his ankles, and Mikey’s shoved a sock in Boy’s mouth so he can use both his hands to position himself._

_There’s a sharp, burning pain in between Boy’s legs, and Mikey grunts in satisfaction. One of Mikey's hands comes up and grabs the sock out, but before Boy can scream, Mikey’s mouth is on his. One hand is still between Boy’s legs, but the other cups Boy’s face, taunting him with false affection. Boy's blood boils even as his heart constricts in fear._

_In a last desperate attempt, Boy grabs Mikey’s wrist and wills his hands to burn, like they do when he makes the light in his palms._

_Mikey screams, and when he pulls away there’s a red handprint on his wrist; the skin is blistering._

_“You fucking freak, what the fuck did you do?” He hollers._

_“I’m sorry,” Boy cries, scrambling a few feet backward. “I don’t know, please! I'm sorry!”_

_Mikey goes to grab Boy again, but Boy holds his hands out in defense._

_Mikey flinches backward, and then he runs out._

_Boy pulls up his pants, and curls back up under his threadbare blanket. Mikey had stolen his good one the day before._

_"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry."_

_“You’re safe now, Harry,” the woman says. “Sleep. He won’t bother you again.”_

_Boy doesn’t know who the lady is, but it doesn’t matter. She’s right. Mikey doesn’t touch Boy—Harry—again. Harry leaves the shelter three weeks later._

* * *

No one in the Slytherin dorms says anything to Harry the next morning, even though his screams had woken everyone up.

None of them want to ask who Mikey is, and none of them want to know what could make a boy beg like that.

They definitely don’t want to know why the dream ended with Harry apologizing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YEET so here's harry being a dumbass nine year old. Lots of kids with hard backgrounds have a hard time knowing how much of their story to tell people, and harry definitely is one of those kids. He's hella smart, and definitely cunning, but again, he's only nine. He doesn't always know not to say certain things about himself. 
> 
> Oh, and in case it wasn't clear, the bit in italics is a flashback/dream,


	8. Letter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Classes begin!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woot woot! I am on a roll with posting! Thank you quarantine!

“There, see?”

“Where? I can’t see anything, he’s too short!”

“Next to the Malfoy heir.”

“Merlin’s pants! Did you see that scar?”

“That one’s not even from You-Know-Who!”

Harry’s head ducked lower and lower with each passing glance. Not even the death stares Draco and Blaise directed at the crowds could stop the whispers from following Harry through the halls. It turned out that the very features that made strangers ignore and avoid Harry in the muggle world—dark skin and prominent scars—were the same features that seemed to give strangers here an invitation to gawk. As he’d told the twins on the train, he was used to stares (even the most self-absorbed muggles seemed intrigued by his scar, especially adults). However, nothing could have prepared him for the sheer amount of students that specifically sought him out just to see his face.

Harry also hadn’t realized just how many questions people would have. He had hoped that his conversation with the Baron would give enough answers to get him through the first few days; he realized he couldn’t have been more wrong. For every piece of information people got, it seemed three more questions were added to the rotation.

Now that people knew the scar _wasn’t_ from Voldemort (apparently, not many people had seen the lightning bolt, and hadn’t realized that the one across Harry’s cheek wasn’t his only one), everyone needed to know what had caused it. Then, once word spread about it being caused by muggles, everyone needed to know the why and when. Harry was sick and tired of it before his first class even started.

Trying to get around the castle was daunting. Not only did most of the 142 staircases move in one way or another—some even moved while students were on them—but the doors also switched around and vanished randomly. Harry swore he saw someone go through a door, only for the door to become a tapestry moments later. Since classes didn’t start until Tuesday, to give everyone a chance to settle in, Harry convinced Draco and Blaise to accompany him as he found his way around. By midmorning, Harry was wishing he had never left the common room. Even the ghosts (not counting the Bloody Baron, of course) were caught up in the rumor factory. Harry had just about walked through the Fat Friar twice when the ghost tried to ask questions instead of letting Harry pass. Even Blaise seemed taken aback by the brazen curiosity of the Hufflepuff ghost. The Gryffindor ghost, who Harry swore was called “Mostly Headless” and Draco insisted was “Nearly Headless,” followed Harry around, stirring up all the portraits they passed and _Nearly! Happy, Draco?_ giving harry a panic attack.

Thankfully, by lunchtime, Harry was confident he’d be able to find all his classrooms without too much trouble, assuming the castle didn’t rearrange itself each night. (Harry honestly wouldn’t be surprised if that were the case.) Draco reluctantly admitted that the exploring had been a good idea, especially after discovering a portrait of one of the Malfoy ancestors in a corridor by the hospital wing (which Harry was careful to avoid. He wasn’t stupid—he knew the second he stepped foot in there, he’d be forced to do a full examination. He was hoping to put it off until he had figured out which professor he might trust to go with him, as he doubted he'd be able to make himself go alone. Professor McGonagall was nice, but he didn’t fancy having a full physical in front of an old lady.). Blaise also insisted that Peeves was now Harry’s friend, after Harry had accidentally trapped the caretaker’s cat in one of the staircases while Peeves was trying to flee the man.

“Oh, that must be Mrs. Norris!” Draco had exclaimed upon spotting the cat. “My father warned me about her. Apparently, she’s quite good at helping Filch catch naughty students.”

Harry laughed, bending down to pet the scrawny animal. “She’s so soft,” he said happily. “So pretty!”

Blaise snorted, obviously disagreeing, but didn’t argue when Harry crouched down to give the thing even more attention. The cat seemed wary of this, unused to affection from students. Her big yellow eyes focused intently on Harry as he eagerly stroked her fur.

Draco, uncomfortable at this reminder of just how young Harry was, scoffed and headed towards the stairs. Harry jumped up to follow, not wanting the staircase to separate him from his friend. This startled Mrs. Norris, and she raced past Draco and started down the steps.

“Wait, don’t go, Mrs. Norris,” Harry called, sad to see her go. He felt bad for scaring her; he hadn’t meant to.

The sound of her voice apparently was one the cat recognized, and she hesitated, pausing her escape just as one of the steps vanished and reappeared, trapping her front leg. The cat yowled, and Harry flinched, rushing to try to trigger the step again to free the cat.

Unfortunately, Peeves chose that moment to come around the corner, Filch hot on his metaphorical tail. Filch spotted Harry approaching the yowling cat and forgot all about the poltergeist, who made a hasty retreat.

“What did you do to my cat?!” Filch roared.

Harry flinched away automatically, bringing up a hand to shield his face. “I- I didn’t!” He managed to stutter.

Filch growled and brandished the broom that was in his hand, simultaneously taking a step forward. Harry cowered, stepping down two more steps, hands still raised in front of him.

Thankfully, his movement triggered the step again, and Mrs. Norris was quick to yank her paw out, racing to stand beside her master. Filch leaned down to lift the cat, checking her for injuries. Harry took his chance and fled, running wildly down the next hallway. Blaise and Draco were right behind him, and Blaise finally brought them all to a stop after turning one final corner.

“You alright, mate?” Blaise panted. His hands were braced on his knees as he bent over, face slightly red as he gulped for air. Draco, on the other hand, was leaning against the wall, trying to look casual as he took long, exaggerated breaths through his nose.

Harry wasn’t winded, however, and started to say so. A loud pop interrupted him, and Peeves appeared in front of him.

“That was a good trick, Potty,” the poltergeist cackled, giving a mock salute. “Very helpful.”

Before Harry could explain that he hadn’t meant to, Peeves was gone.

Blaise just shook his head. “Only you, Harry.”

After lunch, Harry went back to the dorms. He didn’t want to deal with people (or ghosts) anymore. Besides, Remus had said he might want to start reading his potions textbook ahead of time, and Harry was eager for the subject anyway.

Draco couldn’t help but laugh at Professor Snape’s expression when he saw Harry finishing the textbook over dinner.

* * *

Tuesday’s first class was Defense Against the Dark Arts, or DADA as it said on the schedule. Harry was disappointed to discover that they would not be doing any magic in that class their first year. According to Professor Quirrell’s syllabus, first-year DADA was about the theory of defense. Millicent summed it up bitterly, saying “He’s not teaching us defense, he’s teaching us about why we use defense.”

Blaise was irritated about having to deal with Quirrell’s stutter so early in the morning (“I swear, it’s like he’s doing it on purpose!”), and Draco complained constantly about the awful smell that came from Quirrell’s turban. Between the stutter, the reek of garlic, and his friends’ complaints about both, it was no wonder that Harry had an intense headache within 10 minutes of being in class.

Needless to say, Harry was not looking forward to dealing with that twice every week.

* * *

Transfiguration that afternoon was much more exciting.

Professor McGonagall started by giving them all a serious lecture about the dangers of botched transfiguration, but then immediately followed it up by expanding on the countless possibilities the field has to offer.

“There is not a specific spell for each and every transformation,” she explained. “That would be impossible, as there is literally an infinite number of potential transformations that a wizard might perform. Instead, spells are based on the structure of the starting object and of the intended one. For example, _vera verto_ will change a live animal into a metal object. The key to transfiguration is intent. Simply waving a wand at a rat while saying _vera verto_ will not change it unless you are concentrating on how you want it to change. I could use that spell to turn a rat into a cup, a bird into a knife, and so forth, but I have to be focused on my desired outcome. Likewise, if I wanted to turn my shoe into a metal bucket, I would not be able to use that spell, as my shoe is not a living creature.”

Seeing the nervous expressions on most of the students’ faces, the professor smiled. “This subject takes years to master, and we will be starting with much simpler transformations.”

Harry nodded along. He’d looked at the syllabus, and it seemed they would be focusing on transfiguring inanimate objects only for quite some time. He jotted down a couple of quick notes, glad that he’d brought along a few muggle pens. He didn’t want to have to deal with a quill and inkpot every time he wanted to write something down, not to mention the pens were much easier to carry.

McGonagall moved on to demonstrate how to change a match into a needle and wrote the incantation on the board behind her just to be safe.

Then, it was their turn to try.

Harry found the task to be a lot easier than McGonagall had made it sound. Within minutes he had a shiny sewing needle on his desk. Pansy huffed in annoyance and grumbled something about cheating. Harry didn’t let it bother him, and was rewarded with ten points to Slytherin when Pansy’s moaning brought McGonagall’s attention to Harry’s desk.

“Well done, Mr. Potter!” she said, smiling. “That was the quickest this year!”

Draco and Blaise were the next to succeed, and the three spent quite a few minutes competing to see who could get their needle the sharpest. Harry got bored with this, however, and subtly started turning the match into paper clips and safety pins, figuring it was about the same.

He didn’t realize until after class was dismissed that at some point he had stopped saying the incantation out loud. He hoped no one had noticed. Did that count as cheating?

* * *

Severus Snape was proud of his classroom. His subject was easily the most dangerous of those taught at Hogwarts, especially for the younger years. It was incredibly easy to kill yourself and those around you with a simple mistake in Potions. Yet, in his 8 years of teaching, not one student had lost more than a few fingers at any one time.

He knew that this was partly due to his skill in teaching, partly due to his knowledge of how to counteract deadly reactions, and partly due to his ability to scare the absolute shit out of any student who even thinks about not paying attention to his every word.

No, his classroom was not one to fuck around in.

So, on Tuesday morning, when he discovered that Dumbledore had changed the first year time-tables to put the first year Slytherins and Gryffindors together this year, Severus mourned his no-death record. Surely the headmaster knew what a bad idea it was those two houses together—why not keep the Slytherins with the Ravenclaws as they had planned? Even Hufflepuff would be a better pair up than Gryffindor, the house that hated them the most.

“It will be good for them to interact a bit, Severus. Perhaps they might be a good influence on each other under your careful guidance.”

Severus had sneered at the old man. “You mean you want Potter with the lions,” he accused. “God forbid he be content as a snake. You know they’re going to target him.”

The headmaster had merely offered a lemon drop, insisting he had no idea what Severus could mean.

Severus grumbled for the rest of the day, barely pushing his frustration aside in time for the start of class.

In the end, he was glad he’d taken the time to clear his mind before the students came in. Nothing could have prepared him for this.

It was the first time he’d seen Lily’s son up close since he entered the castle. He froze, meeting the bright green eyes that peered up at him curiously. The boy was tiny, and in that moment, all Snape could see was Lily. The boy looked away first, peering around the classroom curiously, and Snape allowed himself a few moments to really observe the boy as the rest of the students entered.

Harry obviously took after his father in looks, but despite that, Snape did not see any of James in the boy, not really. Sure, his skin was almost as dark as James’s had been, and his hair was just as wild, but James Potter had never held himself so carefully, had never been so cautious. Snape could see Harry’s eyes following students as they neared him, carefully keeping watch on his belongings. Severus didn’t miss the flinch when Pansy Parkinson “accidentally” elbowed him on her way to a seat.

The scar, too, helped distance the boy from his father. It truly was awful. Severus hadn’t really been able to see the whole thing from the Head Table, even when the boy had moved his hair to show the Baron. Here, though, less than 10 feet from the boy, Severus could see it in its entirety. It looked like it had been extremely painful, might even still be. Despite the obvious age of the wound—Severus would guess it was about 4 years old, perhaps more—the area was still puffy, and the scar made a large pucker, showing that it had been deep enough to scar the muscle tissue underneath. Harry was lucky he hadn’t been blinded; the scar started above his eye and continued to just above the corner of his mouth. Snape guessed Harry had been backing away at the time, which had saved the blade (or rather, glass, the Baron had informed him) from entering his eye, and caused the wound to taper slightly as it moved down. 

Severus tore his gaze away from the boy as the last Gryffindor finally found a seat. Harry had undoubtedly noticed Severus’s attention, but based on the small smile he was currently receiving, the boy had correctly sensed concern and assessment rather than hero-worship. 

He pushed the thoughts away, sending a glare to the Weasley boy, who apparently had gotten lost on his way in. The time for sentiment was over, now it was time to continue scaring some sense into a bunch of shit-heads, all in an attempt to keep everyone alive for another year.

* * *

Harry could feel the professor watching him as the students entered the potions classroom, but he didn’t think the man meant any harm. It seemed he was just assessing Harry, and honestly, he had the right. Professor Snape was the head of Slytherin House; it made sense that he’d want to get a feel for Harry.

So Harry let the man study him, and focused on the flurry of movement around him. He’d almost managed to relax, even, before Pansy ruined it by startling a flinch out of him. This was the one class he didn’t want to be so jumpy in. Everything he’d read had warned him that potions were delicate, and the slightest thing could set off an explosion.

He did not want to prove Pansy right by making a fool of himself.

By the time Ron finally made it to a seat, Harry had retrieved another pen and muggle notebook out of his bag. This one was forest green, which had seemed like a good color for the subject.

Snape called roll, and thankfully didn’t trip over Harry’s name as Quirrell had done. Even McGonagall had paused noticeably on his name, searching for where he was in the classroom and making eye contact, even though she’d accepted a “present” from the rest of the students without having to look up. Snape, it seemed, already knew where each of the students were, and simply looked to each student as he called their name, not even waiting for a response.

Harry eagerly began writing as Snape started his lecture, only putting the pen down when the professor paused significantly. He looked up to see the man assessing his classroom, and Harry sat up in anticipation.

“Weasley!” Snape said suddenly. “What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?”

Ron jolted in his seat, clearly unprepared for the question. “Um, I don’t know.”

“I don’t know, _sir_ ,” the professor corrected, and Harry heard Pansy giggle. “Try again, Mr. Weasley. “Where would I find a bezoar?”

Ron looked around wildly, as if the answer were written on one of the walls. “I don’t know. Sir,” he added hastily.

“Clearly you weren’t late because you were reading the textbook, Weasley,” Snape said pointedly. “I need you all to come to my class prepared. Does anyone have the answer?”

Harry raised his hand cautiously, seeing Tracey Davis raise her hand as well.

“Mr. Potter,” Snape called.

“In the stomach of a goat, sir,” Harry said softly, recalling a page from the textbook. He remembered it because it was such an odd thing to think about.

“Correct. Two points to Slytherin. Can you tell me the difference between Monkshood and Wolfsbane?”

Harry thought for a second. “I don’t think there is a difference, sir. Aren’t they the same thing?”

Snape’s mouth twitched upward so briefly that Harry thought he might have imagined it. “Correct again, and another two points. It is also known as Aconite.”

Snape then turned to the rest of the class again. “I want to see you all writing this down!” he snapped, prompting anyone who wasn’t to make a frantic dive for their bags. “You should also note that asphodel and wormwood are the primary ingredients in The Draught of Living Death. It is referenced in the chapter on sleeping potions in your textbook.”

Harry made sure to note that down, vowing to reread that chapter.

After that, Snape continued in a lecture about the potion they would be brewing Friday, a cure for boils. This included noting down the entire recipe and going over the reason for each step. Harry found this quite enjoyable, and he expected it would make brewing it easier.

By the end of class, Harry was certain potions was going to be his favorite subject.

* * *

At dinner that evening, Harry received two letters. He stared in awe at the two sheets, until Draco poked him.

“What’s the matter with you?” he asked. “It’s just mail; it’s not going to bite.”

Harry shook himself slightly. “Sorry. It’s just—no one’s ever sent me mail before.”

Draco gaped for a moment, but then just added this to the list of reasons to worry about Harry. “Well, you may as well open them, then.”

Harry nodded and grabbed the smaller sheet. “It’s from Professor Snape!” he said, surprised.

“What’s he want?” Blaise asked curiously.

Harry read the note eagerly.

> _Mr. Potter._
> 
> _It’s come to my attention that a trip to the hospital wing is in your best interests. I will accompany you tomorrow following lunch; wait for me by the doors of the Hall._
> 
> _Also, Muggle pens are fine for notes and homework, but all exams must be completed with a quill. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you it may serve well to practice penmanship before submitting any tests to me, as I will dock points if I cannot read it._
> 
> _Prof. Severus Snape_

Harry bit his lip anxiously. “Do you know what they’re gonna do at the hospital wing?” Harry asks Draco softly.

Draco shrugged. “Probably just look you over, run a diagnostic, the usual. You probably won’t be the only one he’ll take this year.”

Harry relaxed slightly, glad to learn he wasn’t being singled out.

Draco continued. “If your last medical records are from too long ago, that’d also be a reason. They like to make sure we’re looked at regularly.”

Harry snorted. “Is never too long ago?”

Draco blinked. His worrying-things-about-Harry list got longer every time the other boy opened his mouth.

Thankfully, Harry was distracted by the second letter. “It’s from Sirius and Remus!” he declared happily.

> _Dear Prongslet,_
> 
> _Congratulations on your sorting! McGonagall tells us you are doing well in Slytherin._

Harry paused for a minute, feeling slightly guilty that he hadn’t written them personally after the sorting. He supposed he’d have to get used to having someone care about him like this. He’d never had someone to confide in before.

The letter continued.

> _You’ll be happy to know I resisted the urge to paint your entire room red and gold in retaliation. Remus has informed me that that would be childish, and instead made me finally repaint the siding of the house to something less ridiculous._

There, a second handwriting cut in.

> **_Sirius is being silly, Harry. He wouldn’t have actually repainted your room, at least not without your permission. I hope you like red, however, because that was the color Sirius insisted on using for the house. I did veto the gold trim for the windows, however._ **
> 
> _Anyway, Sprog, we’re glad to hear you weren’t in Hufflepuff._
> 
> **_Ignore him, Harry. We’re proud of you, that’s the point._ **
> 
> _Let us know how your classes are going! Have you gotten into any mischief? Discovered any secrets? Is Snape still a wanker?_
> 
> **_Ignore him again, pup. I trust you to be good for your classes and not get yourself in trouble so soon. But actually, how is Professor Snape treating you? Write to us soon. We miss you!_ **
> 
> _Much love,_
> 
> **_Moony_** \+ _Sirius_

Harry laughed, shoving the letter in his pocket so Draco would stop trying to read it over his shoulder.

“They just want to know how everything’s going,” he said. “And, I guess, that they miss me.” Harry went slightly pink at this and stabbed a bit of potato with more force than was strictly necessary.

* * *

> _Dear Remus and Sirius_
> 
> _Thank you so much for writing to me! Ive never been sent a letter before. I dont think ive ever written a letter before either. Sorry if I do this wrong._
> 
> _McGonagall said that Hedwig will know how to find you if I just write your names, even without an adress. Thats so cool!_
> 
> _I havent been in any trouble yet. A lot of people stare at me, and one of the girls in my house isnt very nice, but I just ignore her mostly. I made two friends already! Draco Malfoy and Blaise Zabini. There really nice to me. Professor Snape has been nice too! He let me answer questions in class and even gave me points. He also said I can use the pens for homework as long as I can write with a quill for exams, so thats good. I think potions is going to be my favorite. I havent met all the profesors yet, but I think professor snape is my favorite, and McGonagall. Professor snape even took points from Slytherin when pansy spilled ink on my notes, and the prefects said he never takes points from Slytherin._
> 
> _Draco didnt know what a pen was, so I had to explain it. He keeps asking where the ink is, and how you are supposed to keep filling it. When I said you dont and you just get a new one, he said that was weird, but I caught him trying to write with one during our free period this morning. Blaise said muggles can be both really smart and really dumb at the same time._
> 
> _Professor Snape is going to bring me to the hospital wing for a check-up tomorrow. I dont know if you will get this before that or after, but I can send another letter if there is anything wrong with me. Draco says I will be fine. Do magic doctors poke you with needles like muggle ones? If they do I will not like that at all._
> 
> _I miss you to._
> 
> _From, Harry_

* * *

Sirius choked reading the letter.

“Remus!” He shouted.

Remus ran into the sitting room, trying to figure out what was wrong.

“What?”

“Remus,” Sirius repeated, this time with a pout. “We’ve failed.”

“Si, what are you talking about?” Remus sat on the couch next to Sirius and reached out for the letter. Sirius flopped backward dramatically, holding the letter out.

“We’ve failed! We’ve done something horribly wrong. Our godson is doomed!”

Remus took the letter gently and started reading it, not seeing the issue. “Explain yourself, hon. I’m clearly not seeing what you’re seeing.”

Sirius grabbed his heart, feigning a fainting spell. “Oh, it’s too late. He’s beyond hope. Snape’s his favorite professor!”

Remus stared at the other man for a moment. “How on earth did you convince me to marry you?”

“Moony! This is serious!”

“You’re always Sirius, babe,” Remus said amused.

Sirius frowned, pouting exaggeratedly. “Moony. Mooooony. Snape. Is his favorite!”

Remus sighed. “That is unfortunate, I suppose. But honestly, Sirius. It’s not like Snape’s going to kill him. You know as well as I do that he spent the last five months of the war on our side.”

“I’m not worried about him being a death eater!” Sirius squawked. “He’s just—so—” Sirius slumped. “Okay, I see your point. He changed just as much as James and I did. Fair’s fair.”

Remus nodded, satisfied. “Now, I’m more concerned about this hospital visit. Do you think Harry will be okay?”

Remus quickly regretted asking, as he spent the rest of the evening convincing Sirius that no, he absolutely did not need to go to Hogwarts immediately to go to that appointment with him and that yes, they should trust Madam Pomfrey to do her job.

It was a very long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So ive literally written out harry's class schedule to keep everything straight. Im considering uploading it to go with the fic, but Ive never actually put an image in a fic before, so it might take me a few tries to figure it out. Wish me luck!


	9. Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry drops a number of bombs on people

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey so this chapter took me literal weeks to write, and I'm finally kind of proud of it? 
> 
> Oh also, harry kinda offers to give Snape a-- um, sexual favor?-- in response to him thinking he's in trouble, so heads up if that might trigger you.

The next morning started with DADA again, and Harry, Blaise, and Draco all agreed that it was cruel and unusual punishment to have to deal with Quirrell two mornings in a row every week. Though the other boy didn’t actually say anything, Harry saw Theodore nodding in agreement.

The class gave Harry another migraine, although this one seemed to ebb and flow as Quirrell walked around the room. Harry figured it must be the garlic that caused his headache after all. To his amusement, Tracey Davis actually asked Quirrell about it halfway through the class, wondering if the garlic was for vampires.

Quirrell made an odd expression—Harry thought it might be fear, if not for the sheer ridiculousness—and stammered out a _very_ brief story about an encounter with a vampire that was so scarce on details that Harry half thought he was making it up on the spot. Quirrell then avoided any more questions by dismissing the class—a whole 30 minutes early!

Blaise grumbled about it the entire way to the charms classroom, and a good ten minutes after that, as well.

About ten minutes before the class was set to start, the Ravenclaw first years joined them, and Harry was relieved that they wouldn’t be sharing yet another class with the Gryffindors. He hadn’t missed the dirty looks his whole table had received during each meal, nor the mumbled insults Ron Weasley liked to hurl any time a green tie passed him in the hall.

The two groups entered the classroom quietly, although this was more of an awkward silence than a cold one. This, unfortunately, gave Pansy an easy audience as she began to mock Hermione Granger.

“Look at her! It’s like the muggles don’t know how to do anything, not even brush their own hair!”

Hermione hunched down in the seat she had just taken in the front row, her face turning slightly pink as she grabbed her things out of her bag.

Harry shot Pansy a glare and sat in the seat next to Hermione without saying anything. After a brief pause, Blaise sat down on his other side. Despite there still being one more empty desk in the row next to Blaise, Draco sat a few rows back next to Tracey, leaving a row of Ravenclaws between him and Harry. Harry tried to catch the boy’s eye, but Draco pointedly did not look up from his textbook.

Harry sighed and pulled out a royal blue notebook and a pen. Hermione let out a startled noise when she saw it and turned to face him eagerly.

“I didn’t know we would be allowed to use normal pens!” she exclaimed.

Harry grinned. “Professor Snape told me that pens are acceptable for notes and most homework, but that exams have to be done with a quill.”

“Really? When the letter listed quills and inkpots as necessary supplies, I didn’t even think to ask about alternatives. I thought I was already taking a risk with my spiral notebooks!”

Harry shrugged. “I just figured I’d go for and let someone tell me later if there’s a problem, rather than try to ask permission first. People tend to let things go a lot more when you’re already doing them.”

Hermione considered this, frowning slightly. Then she looked at her quill with a grimace. “I suppose it’s a bit late for that in my case, though,” she said glumly. “I didn’t bring any with me.”

Harry shrugged. “If you don’t have an owl, you can use mine to ask your parents to send you some.”

Hermione brightened at this considerably. “Oh, that would be wonderful! Would you really?”

Harry grinned again. “Sure! Hedwig’s up in the owlery, so just let me know, and we can go send her off.”

The two agreed to go see Hedwig before Astronomy, having realized that they’ll be sharing the class that evening. Hermione tried to ask why Harry won’t be able to after lunch during the free period they also share, but the professor entered the room before Harry had to decide whether or not to say he’s going to the hospital wing.

He decided he liked Professor Flitwick a lot more than Quirrell. Flitwick did, unfortunately, make a fuss about Harry by falling off his chair during roll call, but despite that, he seemed very down-to-earth. (Later, Blaise will point out that that’s probably an insensitive thing to say, considering Flitwick’s extremely short stature. Harry will shake his head, amused, but won't repeat the sentiment. Harry is, after all, determined to make a good impression on everyone.) Harry was also pleased to hear that, starting the next week, they’d be having practical lessons every Wednesday.

All in all, the class was enjoyable, and Harry was in a much better mood by the time he reached his table for lunch. To his dismay, however, Draco again sat noticeably separate from Harry and Blaise. Harry poked at his food miserably, hoping he hadn’t already lost a friend.

* * *

Severus was standing right outside the entrance hall as promised when Potter finally made his way out of the dining hall. 

He gave the boy a curt nod and then began walking towards the infirmary, turning slightly to make sure Potter was following him. The boy did without question. Severus gave the Weasley twins a sharp once over as they passed, ensuring that they weren’t actively flouting the rules.

He heard Potter call out to one of the terrors, and Severus couldn’t help but wonder if Harry had correctly identified the twin. Merlin knew none of the professors—or the students, for that matter—ever had any success.

“Hey, George!”

The twin presumably in question jogged over when he saw who was calling out. “Hey, Harry! Oh—Hello, Professor Snape.” The last half was stated with considerably less enthusiasm, but Severus merely inclined his head in acknowledgment and continued walking.

He heard Potter explaining where he was going, and rolled his eyes when Weasley immediately demanded if Potter was okay.

Potter stammered something out about needing a “dinogstic” scan, and Snape had to suppress a sneer. _It was to be expected that such a young child would stumble over his words_ , he reminded himself. Even a boy with as much supposed magical strength as Potter was susceptible to having a clumsy tongue.

He did, however, correct the boy’s pronunciation. Just because Potter could hardly see over the top of a desk didn’t mean Snape was going to let one of his snakes go around sounding like a toddler.

He stopped at the door of the hospital wing. “Mr. Weasley, get to class. I dare say you might even learn something if you bother to focus on something other than turning my Slytherins’ ties into cabbages.”

Weasley flushed a satisfying pink at the reminder of what Snape had caught him doing in the halls that morning.

Potter seemed rather reluctant to see the other boy go, but he didn’t argue when Snape ushered him into Poppy’s domain.

Madam Pomfrey came out of her office, smiling at Potter as she directed him to sit on the end of one of the beds. Severus sat down in one of the more sensible chairs next to the bed and then subtly set up a privacy charm around the three of them to ward off any would-be eavesdroppers. 

“What was that, Professor?” Potter asked as Pomfrey summoned some papers from her office.

Snape raised an eyebrow. _Had the boy felt the wards go up?_ “A privacy spell, Potter. Or would you rather the whole school know the details of this visit?”

Potter shook his head wildly, and Snape bit back a chuckle despite himself. 

They both turned to Pomfrey when she made a _tsk_ ing noise. “You don’t have any records, Mr. Potter. Has no one ever bothered to bring you for a check-up?”

Potter turned a bit red but didn’t deny it.

Pomfrey tutted, annoyed.

Potter bit his lip. “is—is that bad? Is—is Sirius or Remus going to get in trouble?”

Snape did sneer at that. “No, Potter, they will not. The Ministry couldn’t expect them to have brought you in yet.”

Potter turned to him, frowning. “What do you mean?”

Snape pursed his lips, thinking of the conversation he had had with Dumbledore during lunch.

(The older wizard had been—less than pleased, Snape supposed was a decent description—when Pomfrey had mentioned the appointment. Snape had shot back that he wasn’t surprised that the mutts hadn’t thought to get Harry properly looked at. Dumbledore had sighed, seeming almost reluctant to come to his precious Gryffindors' defense. “Misters Black and Lupin couldn’t have brought Harry into a healer until they had proper custody, not without a lot of complications. They received custody once the Ministry voided Harry’s death certificate, my boy,” Dumbledore had said. “That only happened less than a week ago.” Snape had grudgingly accepted that Dumbledore was right.)

“Your Godfathers didn’t have time between being awarded custody and your arrival here, Potter. What’s more of a concern is that there are no records stemming from before then.”

Potter seemed to consider this. “Well, the Dursleys said freaks weren’t worth the trouble,” he said as if that was an acceptable attitude for them to have had towards a child in their care.

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers. He could feel a headache forming with each word out of the boy’s mouth.

“Let’s get this over with, Poppy. I have a fifth-year class next block, and I’d like to have time to bang my head against the wall in between.”

Potter gave him a bewildered look, but Poppy indeed began the process before Potter could open his mouth again.

Potter sat still as Poppy ran her wand over him, shivering slightly with each pass over. Snape again wondered if Potter could feel the magic moving over him. It was common for more experienced wizards to be able to sense magic, but Snape had never heard of a student younger than 14 ever showing evidence of being capable of it.

The Medi-witch took a vial of blood, and then waved her wand over the boy one last time. Poppy frowned at the purple glow that settled around several points on Potter’s thin frame. Snape had recognized the last scan and knew that the spell looked for bone breaks.

He supposed it was good that there were no red spots (which would have indicated a current injury), but the sheer amount of purple was concerning. It seemed no limb had escaped. Especially concerning was the deep purple around the boy’s right wrist, hand, and fingers, as well as the cloud that had settled around his torso.

Potter stared at his hand in fascination. “What does it mean?”

Pomfrey cleared her throat. “It means the bone has previously been broken, Mr. Potter.”

She inspected his hand thoroughly, asking him to bend and rotate the joints to make sure the breaks hadn’t hindered his range of motion. Snape watched closely, quietly double-checking Poppy’s results. He trusted the witch with his life, but the hand was such a delicate thing. Poppy probably would have asked his opinion, anyway, if she hadn’t been aware of his silent observations.

Finally satisfied that there were no lingering mobility issues, Poppy spoke, startling the boy slightly. 

“I must request you remove your robes and shirt so that I can take a closer look at your ribs.”

The boy shrunk down, and slowly fumbled the buttons on his robes. Severus was nearly ready to vanish the garb when Potter finally got it unhooked. The same went for the button-down shirt, and Severus tapped his foot impatiently.

Severus desperately wished for the boy to put the shirt back on once he saw what it had been hiding. Thin pink scars of an assorted length covered the boy’s back, and the front had several more of those damned circular scars where a cigarette had clearly been snuffed out on the skin.

Pomfrey paled a bit but continued her assessment of Potter’s ribs.

“They’ve been healed with magic, Mr. Potter.”

Potter looked down at his chest in mild surprise. “They what? No one’s cast any spells on me for that. I don’t even remember breaking them.”

Poppy sighed. “ _Your_ magic, I believe, Harry. I’m guessing you were too young to realize what had happened, or you’d have remembered healing them.”

Snape found himself suppressing a rather vicious snarl at this. No child should have such severe injuries, especially not a child too young to even remember it happening.

“Oh,” Harry said. “Then it was probably the Dursleys. They never liked to help me when I was hurt. Said it was a waste of good money when I had brought it on myself in the first place by being freaky.”

Severus considered the boy carefully before speaking. “They were wrong, Mr. Potter. No child should be hurt, and no adult should ever let an injury lie unattended, and worst of all, no adult should ever, for any conceivable reason, cause an injury to a child that would need healing in the first place.”

Potter gaped up at him for the briefest moment, seeming not to know what to do with that. Severus eyed the expression with distaste- the boy looked like a fish with his mouth open like that.

“They’re healed proper enough that I won’t need to rebreak them,” Poppy declared, breaking the awkward silence. Severus was not ashamed to identify the bolt of relief that went through him.

Potter nodded, seeming a bit squeamish at realizing that that had been a concern.

“As for the scars…” Neither adult missed the flinch that provoked, but Poppy continued carefully. “I can’t do anything about the one on your cheek. It’s affected too much tissue. These ones,” Poppy paused, waving her wand over Potter’s exposed skin. “These we can reduce, although I don’t think we can heal them completely. The longer you’ve had a scar, the more it heals itself, but the less magic can impact the scar. I believe Professor Snape should be able to brew a scar-reducing ointment that should do the trick.”

Severus nodded in agreement. Potter warily accepted this and put his shirt and robes back on as Poppy set a quill filling out various sheaves of paper.

She sent the boy out, and Potter nearly tripped in his haste to escape.

“I noticed you didn’t say anything about the odd one on his forehead,” Snape said casually.

Poppy gripped her wand tight enough to turn her knuckles white. “I wasn’t about to tell the boy why I couldn’t fix that one,” she hissed.

Snape frowned, taken aback. “Which is why?”

“It’s filled with dark magic, Severus.” Poppy’s voice was hushed despite the fact that Snape hadn’t canceled the privacy ward yet. “I’m surprised it’s managed to scar at all, and even so, it looks more like a fresh cut when you _really_ look. It’s only the lack of blood that makes me call it a scar at all. Based on the curse… I don’t even know how the boy…” Her voice broke off. “That mark won’t ever fade, Severus.”

Severus was shaken by the tone of the mediwitch’s voice even more than the words. He’d never heard her so scared before, not even when patients were moments from death. 

“What curse, Poppy?” He asked.

“The killing curse. That mark scans as a tangible fragment of an _Avada Kedavra_.”

_Oh._

* * *

Blissfully unaware of the bomb that Pomfrey had just dropped on Snape, Harry found himself humming as he made his way down to the Slytherin common room. Professor Snape was going to give him a scar cream! The idea that he might not have to carry all of his burdens on his skin made him positively giddy.

The happy little bubble in his chest popped once he got to the common room. Draco had been reading through the herbology textbook in the corner closest to the entry to the first-year dorm. Blaise was sitting next to him, writing a letter. Both of them looked up when Harry entered the room.

“Harry!” Blaise called out, gesturing to the third seat at the small table.

Draco scowled and went back to reading without saying a word.

Harry’s smile at Blaise’s greeting fell off his face so fast, Blaise wasn’t entirely sure it had been there at all.

“Hey,” Harry said softly, oh-so-carefully sinking into the chair, as if afraid it would be yanked out from beneath him.

“How’d the visit go?” Blaise asked, deciding to avoid the tension for now.

Harry shrugged. “It was okay. Madam Pomfrey ran a bunch of tests on me with her wand. The magic felt really funny but it didn’t hurt. And she said I was all okay!” He didn’t explain about the broken bones or the scars. He didn’t need Blaise to know just how much of a freak he really was.

Blaise nodded. “That’s really good, Harry!”

Harry smiled again, but it disappeared just as quickly when the turn of Draco’s page caught his attention.

“Draco?” Harry asked gently.

Draco didn’t respond other than to huff out a breath. Harry flinched back.

“Did I—did I do something?”

Blaise put a hand on Harry’s shoulder—or rather, he tried to, but the younger boy cringed away as soon as Blaise lifted his arm.

“I’m sorry!” Harry said desperately. “I didn’t mean to make you mad!”

Draco snapped his book shut, and Harry flinched so hard this time that he went stumbling out of his seat, barely catching himself before his head slammed into the ground.

“Draco Malfoy!” Blaise snapped, suddenly livid.

Draco sneered slightly, but the expression was thin. “Blaise.”

“Would you get your head out of your arse and tell us what’s got you so mad? You’re scaring Harry!”

Harry flushed pink, standing up but not bothering to get back in the chair.

Draco stopped, and a sad look came across his face before it went blank again without either of the other boys noticing the momentary emotion. 

Harry grimaced, his eyes were still trained on the book in Draco’s hand. Draco followed his line of sight to the book, frowning. It was like Harry thought he would—oh.

“I’m not going to hit you,” Draco said flatly.

Harry turned a funny shade of green and opened his mouth to deny that he had ever thought such a thing. People didn’t like it when you accused them of that. It made them angry. It made them hate him even more—

“I don’t hate you!”

Harry blinked. “What?”

“You got this look on your face like you were standing in front of an executioner. I’m angry, but I don’t hate you.”

“But why are you mad?” Harry asked again, still confused. “What did I do?”

“You sat with—with that Granger girl!” Draco burst out.

“I—what?”

Blaise enjoyed the pink that was creeping across Draco’s face and down his neck. It wasn’t easy to get a Malfoy so riled up.

“You sat with Granger during charms!”

“Okay? Why is that bad? There was still room for you next to Blaise!”

“She’s a mudblood,” Draco declared like that should be the only explanation necessary.

Harry crinkled his nose at the unfamiliar term. “What’s a mudblood?”

Blaise cut in. “It’s a… a rather unfriendly word for a witch or wizard whose parents are muggles.”

Harry frowned. “What’s wrong with that?”

Draco sneered again. “Muggles are low, filthy. They aren’t worth our time, and mudbloods are an unfortunate quirk that we shouldn’t have to put up with.” He sounded like he was reciting from a manual—Blaise had no doubts that Draco’s father had said those exact words many times before.

Harry’s face turned red again, but this time it wasn’t from embarrassment. “Filthy? So mudblood—you’re saying she has dirty blood?”

Draco nodded. “Exactly!”

Harry’s face darkened again, and Blaise fidgeted nervously in his seat. He didn’t like the direction this was going.

Harry turned to Blaise. “Do you agree with this?”

Blaise shrugged. “Blood matters. Ability matters more.” 

Harry seemed to accept this and turned back to Draco. “What makes muggles below us?”

Draco lifted his chin in false confidence. “They have no magic! No culture. They’re dirty little things with no sense of the world around them. They’re like monkeys compared to us. Granger’s no better. She’s not a true witch, just a dirty freak.”

Harry’s temper snapped. Sparks flew from his fingers, and the air crackled. The stone walls trembled and several of the larger ones cracked in half, leaving large gaps in the wall. There was a large boom, and the enchanted windows shattered, although thankfully the magic still kept the lake at bay. Harry’s eyes seemed to glow.

A door opened and Daphne poked her head through to view the common room, trying to tell what stupid seventh-year had fucked up one of their experiments. She was surprised to see that the room was deserted other than three first-years. Seeing the damage, she hastily made her way to the shortcut leading to Professor Snape’s office.

“Dirty freak?” Harry cried out. There was another wave of magic, and every single tapestry in the room caught fire.

Draco cowered back, stammering something about his father. Blaise found himself rooted to his chair, although he couldn’t tell if it was fear or magic to be blamed.

Harry curled his fists, screwing his eyes shut as he tried to control his temper.

“Mr. Potter!” A surprised voice exclaimed.

Harry turned and saw Professor Snape standing in the far side of the room, near where the prefects’ rooms were. Harry caught a glimpse of the shattered windows and burning tapestries, and froze, his face going white. All five present (Daphne was still hovering behind Snape) could feel the magic whoosh past them as Harry forcefully reined it in.

Harry took several ragged breaths before speaking. “Professor Snape! I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean—”

“Silence.”

Harry snapped his mouth shut at the command. No one missed the way he clasped his hands behind his back, head bowing, as he waited for the ax to fall.

“Zabini,” Snape said, seeing how the boy was eyeing Harry with concern. “Explain—succinctly and with haste—what has occurred here.”

Blaise cleared his throat. “Harry sat with Hermione Granger during charms earlier. Draco—got upset—and Harry asked what was wrong with her. Draco called her—” Blaise paused, shooting an almost apologetic look at the blonde boy, who was shaking slightly. “Draco called her a mudblood. Harry didn’t know what it meant. Draco—explained. I don’t really know what happened then. Everything kinda went crazy.”

Harry’s head bowed a bit lower at that.

Snape considered for a moment. He waved his wand in a few complicated loops and said a few words in a low voice, just outside Harry’s hearing range. The fires abruptly went out, although nothing else was fixed. Snape paused again.

“Greengrass.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Go fetch McGonagall and Flitwick. Tell them that the Slytherin common room needs immediate repairs before the wards holding back the lake fail entirely.”

Harry was shaking now. _Fuck fuck fuck_

“Draco. Ten points from Slytherin for reprehensible language. You will write a formal apology to Miss Granger.”

Draco gaped but didn’t protest, still very shaken from Harry’s reaction.

“Potter.”

Harry flinched. Blaise was starting to hate that action more than any other.

“My office. Now.”

With that, he turned to the exit, his robes billowing behind him.

Harry took off like a shot, not wanting to make Snape think he was trying to avoid punishment.

* * *

Harry sat rigidly in the chair across from Snape’s desk. The man was standing just in front of the desk, so Harry didn’t even have the protective layer of that between him and the older wizard. He didn’t dare move a muscle, not wanting to jumpstart the beating he was sure to receive by the end of the encounter.

Some vague thought crossed his mind about what Snape had said earlier in the hospital wing, but Harry pushed it aside with prejudice. There was no point in hope.

Snape stared at Harry for a long moment. The boy was shaking like a bird caught in the Whomping Willow, and he wouldn’t bring his eyes up to meet the gaze of the man in front of him. Snape sighed, trying to find a good way to address what had happened without the boy going into hysterics.

Unfortunately, it was too late for that.

As soon as Harry heard Snape start to speak—indeed, as soon as the man even took a breath—Harry launched into motion. He propelled himself out of his seat and knelt clumsily beside the chair, mouth already working desperately.

“Please sir, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, I promise!” he babbled. “Please, I’ll fix it! I’ll make it right, please!”

“Potter!” Snape exclaimed, and the boy flinched hard enough to whack his head against the seat of the chair he had just vacated. “You cannot possibly fix the damage you have done; the spell work was immensely difficult. It will be a miracle if the professors can manage it without needing the headmaster.”

The boy was being ridiculous if he thought he’d be expected to figure out the insanely complicated set of charms and wards that his accidental magic had ripped through!

Unfortunately, the words did not have the effect the professor was hoping for. Harry let out a sob when he heard he wouldn’t be allowed to help fix the mess he’d made. Were they going to just expel him then?

“Please!” Harry said again, and this time he let just a bit more helplessness seep unto his voice as he flung himself to the older man’s feet. He forced himself to look up and meet the man’s eyes, trying to project just how distraught he was. “Please, sir. I swear I didn’t mean it!”

Severus sighed at the waterworks; the sheer nerve for Potter to fling himself onto the floor like an infant!

“What are you going to do about it, boy?” Snape asked impatiently, wanting to know if Potter had the sense to apologize and promise to better control his magic.

Harry’s stomach dropped. He knew exactly what was expected of him; Harry— ** _Boy!_** always knew. Harry could do this. Harry could make this man want him, want to keep him.

Harry steeled himself, and reached out, putting a hand on his professor’s hip. “I’ll be good,” he said, nearly a whisper. “Please don’t expel me, I’ll be a good boy.”

Snape eyed the boy, not liking the sudden change in tone. Potter had gone from desperate to resigned in the span of seconds.

“What do you mean?” He asked, confused. What on earth was Potter doing?

Harry took a breath, and then went all in.

“I know how to do it right, sir. You don’t have to worry about my teeth, and I don’t gag.”

Snape went white. He took a step backward, forgetting the desk, and hissed as his ankle made contact with the bottom edge. He stepped to the side instead, causing Potter’s arm to fall from his hip. Snape shuddered at what the boy had obviously intended to do with that hand if Snape had been a lesser person.

Lesser person—a rapist, Snape corrected himself. That’s the only word to describe what the boy was offering. He thought—merlin!

The boy thought he had to offer to let Snape _rape_ him in order to stay in the school.

Harry cocked his head to the side, watching Snape carefully. He knew better than to follow the man unless asked—no one liked a clingy whore.

“Please, Professor Snape,” Harry said, using the man’s name for the first time since entering the office. “Please, you can pretend I’m someone else, just let me fix this!”

Snape finally found his voice. “I will be doing no such thing, Potter,” He snapped, although there was a lot less heat in his voice than usual. “That is no way for any situation, least of all this one, to be remedied. And before you progress further into hysterics, I will point out that at no point this evening have you been in danger of being expelled.”

Ugh, there was that fish-like expression again. “Sir? I destroyed the common room!”

Snape raised an eyebrow at the sudden protest. “Surely you don’t want to get expelled?”

“No!” Harry yelped, rising to his feet. “No! I just—I _destroyed the common room_.”

Snape sighed again. “Your accidental magic destroyed the common room, Potter. Or am I to assume you did that on purpose?”

“No!” Harry said again, very confused at the sudden change in events. “No, I didn’t even realize I’d done it until I turned around.”

“Then I can hardly hold you responsible, can I?” Snape asked dryly. “I called you in here to see if you were alright, child. That much magic being used so suddenly and violently can drain a person quite substantially.”

Harry nodded vaguely, still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“Now, as for your reaction, I think it is quite reasonable that I have several concerns.”

There it was; Harry knew it. He had done something wrong again.

“I—”

“Potter.” Snape’s voice was harsh, but not unkind. Harry snapped his mouth shut regardless, not wanting to dig himself into an even deeper hole.

“Harry,” Snape amended. “I do not think we need to address these concerns tonight. That is something for another time. I will ask you to explain in your own words what caused your outburst in the first place.”

Snape’s tone gave no room for refusal.

“I—he called her dirty,” Harry mumbled.

“Miss Granger?” Snape clarified. "Mr. Malfoy was speaking of her?" 

“Yeah,” Harry said glumly. “He said she had dirty blood. Like an animal.” Harry’s voice started to get louder, more defiant. “He said she was like a monkey—with no culture, just a dirty _freak.”_

Severus did not like the acidic tone that had overcome the boy’s speech. It was quite a change from the terrified boy from minutes previous.

“That upset you this much?” His question wasn’t meant as a reprimand, and Harry could tell Snape was genuinely surprised. Unfortunately, that surprise just made him more indignant.

“How dare he?” Harry exclaimed. “He doesn’t even know her! How can he say she’s dirty—or low? Or - or a freak?! He’s—how can he say that?”

Harry broke off and realized he was blinking back tears. “I thought it was going to be better here, sir. Sirius and Remus—they said people weren’t going to be—be like that. Not like—not like before.”

Snape’s eyebrows went up when he saw what the boy was trying to say. “You are accusing Draco of being a racist.” Again, the statement was free of judgment, and this time, Harry recognized Snape’s attempt to stay neutral.

“He is!” Harry said confidently. “He’s—he sounds just like Aunt Petunia whenever she went on her nasty rants about me, sir. I’ve heard it a thousand times from a hundred people, professor. Saying someone had dirty blood is racist, and I—I hate it.”

Snape sighed. “I must—apologize, Harry. I should have—I should have foreseen that this may have been an issue. I do wish I had warned you of the—prejudices that are particularly present in Slytherin House. I do recommend that you talk to Mr. Malfoy about this, Harry. You may find that not all his nastier opinions are actually his own.”

Harry frowned, trying to pull this apart. His eyes went wide. “He-he's repeating someone?”

Snape gave a slight nod. “It is very likely, Mr. Potter.”

Harry slumped backward. “I really didn’t mean to explode like that, honest.”

“I believe you,” Snape said gently. “Now, it is nearing dinner, and I am sure that you are quite hungry after expending that much magic. Why don’t you go find Mr. Zabini and head to the Great Hall?”

Harry nodded, thanked the professor, and fled the room.

Snape wondered how many bombs this child could drop on him in a single day.

* * *

> _To Sirius Black and Remus Lupin_
> 
> _It has come to my attention that Mr. Potter has not, indeed, been in hiding this whole time, as Dumbledore has lead my colleagues to believe. The events of the past several hours has proved as much._
> 
> _Madam Pomphrey and I have discovered multiple instances where Mr. Potter used his own magic to heal himself extensively, and these were not simple injuries. The boy also let slip that some of these injuries occurred while in the custody of “The Dursleys,” which I am assuming is Petunia’s family. Rest assured my own experiences with said woman are enough that I do not find it hard to believe what Harry has said about her._
> 
> _I would like to know if the Dursleys are going to be recieveing any… retribution for their actions. As Head of Slytherin House, I do not tolerate abuse against my stidents, no matter how far in the past this abuse might be._
> 
> _It has also come to my attention that Harry has some—shall I say—misconceptions, about how discipline should be handled. An unfortunate conversation between your charge and the younger Mr. Malfoy concerning the term “Mudblood” culminated in Mr. Potter’s magic destroying a majority of the Slytheirn Common Room. I’m sure you are aware of the things Harry has suffered in the past, and I certainly hope I do not have to put into words what the child offered me in unneeded attempts to save himself from expulsion._
> 
> _I have not forgotten our pasts, but for the sake of Lily’s child I wish to put it aside. I will be updating you periodically about Mr. Potter—his age alone is concerning, and in the future, I may require your presence when speaking with the boy. I do not wish to question such a young child about such delicate topics like the ones mentioned above without a guardian present._
> 
> _My floo is accessible upon request if needed._
> 
> _Severus Snape._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, what did you think? Im proud of this chapter, but I'm also kinda nervous about it. Im hoping it doesn't feel too forced. i feel like I had to cut it off before any actual plot progression, but the next segment is like another 3000 words so I thought it best to just end the chapter here and let the next chapter pick up the real action again. 
> 
> OH! BTW I borrowed the phrase "blood matters. Ability matters more," from lovely series called Sarcasm and Slytherin here on ao3! (the URL is https://archiveofourown.org/series/863648 and I really recommend you read it) The works have been orphaned, unfortunately, so I don't know the author to give the credit to, but I absolutely love that series and that phrase really fits to describe a true neutral outlook on blood status in the wizarding world. I hope the author wont mind that I borrowed it, as I don't intend for the phrase to be nearly as important or as prevalent as it is in its original narrative.


	10. Flying Lessons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which draco gets his head out of his arse, and harry flies on a broom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! SO sorry it's been so long. I was trying to get a bunch written ahead of time, but my schedule was just not having it. I've started taking classes again through my local university, and needless to say, that has added a fair amount of stress to my plate. I promise ill try harder to get the next chapter out in a timely manner. Thanks for being so patient with me!

> _~~Dear Snivellus~~ _
> 
> _~~Keep your nose out of this, we have it handled. If I find out you laid so much as a finger on my godson, I’ll kill you.~~ _

> **_~~To Severus Snape~~ _ **
> 
> **_~~We wouldn’t mind if you paid a visit to the Dursleys; say hello to petunia for us~~ _ **

> _~~Snape~~ _
> 
> _~~I appreciate your concern, but we have it handled~~ _

> **_To Professor Severus Snape_ **
> 
> **_Thank you for taking care of Harry, and for reaching out to us so quickly._ ** _We are grateful for your discretion and think it’s best that all further communication about Harry’s past is done in person. **I don’t want any information falling into the wrong hands, and letters are easily intercepted, especially at Hogwarts.** Is Friday evening an acceptable time for a discussion?_
> 
> **_R._ ** **_**L** upin_ ** _and S. Black_
> 
> ****

* * *

****

Thursday went by like any other day.

Harry woke up early, ignored Draco at breakfast, walked to Herbology with Blaise, and ignored Draco. He greeted Neville and chatted with him about his toad during gaps in Sprout’s lecture. This earned glares from Pansy, but Harry didn’t really care.

After the double period came lunch, and Harry cheerfully departed from Neville’s side to set next to Blaise and Theodore, purposely angling himself so that Draco wouldn’t be able to force eye-contact. After lunch came their first History of Magic lesson. All of them were horrified to discover that Professor Binns, despite being a ghost, was the least interesting professor in the castle.

The walk back to the dorms after class was filled with complaints and moans about that disaster, and Harry nearly laughed at Draco’s outraged expression when Tracey said it wasn’t _that_ bad. No one missed Draco’s crushed look when Harry deliberately turned to Blaise instead. No one, that is, except Harry.

In fact, Harry successfully ignores Draco until after potions the next afternoon.

* * *

Friday morning transfiguration class went by smoothly, at least for Harry. They were still working on changing their matches into needles. Harry again resorted to turning his match into various metal objects, and soon enough it was time for lunch.

Harry dragged out his potions textbook and set it down in front of his plate, making Blaise groan.

“Haven’t you read that enough already?” Blaise asked, stabbing a piece of chicken.

Draco opened his mouth to say something, but Harry cut him off before anyone could find out what.

“I just want to review the steps for the boil cure one last time!” He defended himself, making everyone around him roll their eyes.

* * *

When they got to class, Harry immediately plopped down next to Blaise, keeping the boy between himself and the Gryffindors. He felt a twinge as he saw Draco paired with Theodore three tables away.

Professor Snape swept into the room, startling everyone into silence as his black robes flared out behind him. The man paused briefly to glare at Weasley, and again at Harry’s desk, which was at the front of the classroom, closest to the board.

“Mr. Potter,” Snape said flatly. Harry could feel the rest of the class staring at him. “I assume you are responsible for Ms. Granger asking me about Hogwarts’ policy on muggle stationery?”

Harry swallowed uneasily, hoping that he hadn’t done something wrong. “Y-Yes, sir.”

Snape seemed to take a moment to stare Harry down, considering. “Five points to Slytherin, Mr. Potter. I’ve long advocated that that policy be made clear in acceptance letters.”

Harry gaped at the professor for a moment, as did most of the other children in the room.

Pansy Parkinson broke first. “Why on earth would we allow muggle tools at Hogwarts?!”

Snape whirled to face the girl. “Excuse me, Ms. Parkinson?”

“Mudbloods shouldn’t be allowed to ignore the proper wizarding ways!” she continued, although at a more reasonable tone.

“I will say this once, Ms. Parkinson. That word is not to be said in my presence, or you will regret the consequences. That being said, it is not about ignoring wizarding customs. It is about making education and learning accessible to everyone, especially those who need time to adjust from one world to another.”

“But that’s like—they’re not even proper witches or wizards, then, right? If they can’t do things the right way?” asked a female Gryffindor—Lavender… Bloom? Brown?

“Ms. Brown,” Snape said, “The only thing one needs to be a proper witch or wizard is magic.”

The class stared at the professor in silence for a moment. Harry was beaming, and Snape’s heart twinged slightly at the sight, although he would never admit it. That smile—misshapen just barely from the muscle damage on the right side—was still purely Lily.

“Don’t forget,” Theodore suddenly spoke out, “Lily Potter was muggle-born.”

Thankfully unnoticed, Draco felt himself go white. He _had_ forgotten that, in his foolishness Wednesday afternoon. He’d forgotten that Hermione Granger was of the same status as Lily Potter when the late witch had entered Hogwarts as an Evans. He felt the world shift around him as he realized the truth of the matter. 

Draco cursed himself, regretting his words with every fiber of his whole being.

* * *

“Harry,” a voice called out, as the first years were leaving the potions classroom. “Harry, wait!”

Harry turned around, seeing Draco gesture awkwardly off to the side. Harry stopped and waited for the rest of the students to make their way down and out of the hall before speaking.

“What do you want?” Harry asked, tone a bit less harsh than he had intended.

“I—” Draco started, “I need to say that I am so, so sorry for what I said the other night.”

Harry narrowed his eyes. He desperately wanted to accept the apology and take his friend back, but he didn’t know if he could trust this.

“Why?” he finally asked.

“Why?” Draco parroted, confused. “Why what?”

“Why are you sorry?” Harry clarified.

“I’m sorry because I was wrong!” The blond burst out. “I was wrong, completely and utterly. I had no right to say the things that I said, and in fact, no one has the right to say them. I know it isn’t true, that muggle-borns aren’t dirty, or less than me.”

“You didn’t know that when you were saying it,” Harry accused. “What made you realize in the two days since?”

“Actually,” Draco said sheepishly. “Your mum.”

“My mother?” Harry echoed, dumbfounded.

“Yes. What Theodore said today—I needed to hear it. I had forgotten. You—your mum was a muggle-born, and I—I realized that if I truly believed that muggle-borns were dirty, and all those other horrible things I said, I would have to believe the same about you. But I don’t, because it isn’t true. You aren't weak, or dirty, or less than me. You're like the most powerful person in this whole castle. I can't believe that muggle-borns, and then muggles, are below me, not if I don't believe that about you.”

Harry listened to all this without saying a word, but a small smile did start to make its way across his face.

“Do you forgive me?” Draco asked, dreading the answer despite the fact that Harry was grinning at him.

“Yes,” Harry said, letting a smile spread across his face. “Yes, Draco. I forgive you. I’m sorry I lost it so badly in response, too.”

Draco laughed softly. “I accept.”

And with that, the two head into the Great Hall as if their separation had never occurred.

* * *

While Harry and Draco sat on a couch together and start their charms homework Friday evening, two men entered Severus Snape’s domain through the fireplace.

The two sat heavily on the surprisingly comfortable green sofa, grateful that Snape had allowed this meeting to happen in his personal quarters, rather than in his office. Severus gave them a minute, half hoping they _didn’t_ adjust to being in such a blatantly Slytherin environment. Snape had always drawn unparalleled comfort from the Slytherin common room, and he was not embarrassed by the fact that his livings areas were modeled after the very space that had been his refuge throughout his teenage years. Severus was vaguely disappointed when the men hardly reacted to the green and silver, and instead actually seemed impressed by the view of the Great Lake a large window provided.

He then felt disgusted by himself, worrying about petty rivalries when the purpose of the men’s presence was so seri—grave.

“Harry Potter is a rape victim.” Severus broke the awkward silence bluntly, not wanting to deal with unimportant trivialities or—god forbid—small talk.

Remus flinched hard and Sirius sucked in a breath.

“Yes,” Sirius said finally, his voice cracking on the single syllable.

“When did it occur?” Severus asked shortly.

Remus sighed, but it was not one of annoyance. It sounded—tortured. “That’s too narrow of a question, Snape.”

“Severus,” Snape said automatically. “We’ll be seeing enough of each other, I’m sure.”

Remus nodded just as robotically and saw the second his words sunk in. Severus’s face went pale.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s not a matter of when, not really,” Sirius said hollowly. “It’s a matter of how many times.”

Snape felt his gut roil. “Explain.”

“What do you know?” Remus asked, figuring this would be easier if they had a clear starting point of what information the professor was missing.

“I know he was, for some Merlin-be-damned reason, with Petunia and her husband—Dursley? I think he said was her surname now,” Snape said, trying to pull all of the scraps he’d gathered into something coherent. “I know they were grievously unfit to raise a child, never mind a magical one. I could have told you that before ever laying eyes on the boy, honestly. Petunia always was a wretched girl. I know that the scar on his face was caused by muggles, and I recognized some of the ones on his arms and chest as being caused by a cigarette. Messers Malfoy, Zabini, and Nott have each separately informed me that the boy spent an unknown amount of time in some sort of group home..”

Remus nodded along, confirming the accuracy of each statement. “Yes, that’s all correct. He was with Petunia for about 4 years, he thinks. He didn’t know when his birthday was, or even how old he was at all, so it was hard for him to keep track of things like that. He remembers going to school for the majority of a year before leaving the Dursleys, thanks to the interference of a school nurse.”

Snape’s expression darkened slightly on the news about Harry’s birthdays. His own birthdays as a child hadn’t exactly been newsworthy events, and some were even horrible enough that he’d wished his father hadn’t remembered, but at least he had always known when they were happening.

Sirius jumped in at this point, continuing the tale. “He then went to some family he can barely remember— he didn’t spend more than two months with them—just enough to finish out the school year, we believe. That was enough time for the family to prove they were just as bad as the Dursley’s, if not worse. To this day, we are unsure if it was that patriarch or Vernon—Petunia’s husband—that did that to his face. Harry’s blocked out the memory almost entirely, leaving him with just enough recollection to know the bare bones of how he got the scar. In any case, Harry knows he ran from them as soon as the school year was over, since he can remember saying bye to the nurse on the last day, but he knows he spent the summer on his own.”

Remus took over again. “He then spent the next two or three years—again, we don’t know how long since the Dursleys could have sent him to school as a 5- or a 6-year-old. I think it frustrates him not to know how long he was on the streets, but he didn’t even know his name, never mind any other important information that could have helped him out.”

Severus looked a little green at this. “Continue.”

Sirius got up and started to pace, shooting the occasional glance out into the murky depths of the lake. “He jumped from shelter to shelter, doing his best to avoid child services. Some of the shelters were better than others, I guess. But during this time, he—he—” Sirius broke off, unable to continue.

“He fell victim to several perverts, rapists, and abusers, some of whom managed to repeat the offenses several times each before Harry was able to relocate himself,” Remus finished for his husband. “We don’t know if any, or if indeed, how many, of these incidents were – instigated by Harry. We do know that he was forced to use his body as a bargaining tool at least a few times in order to escape what he saw to be a worse fate, whatever that may have been.”

Severus took this all in, taking a moment to summon a bottle of fire whiskey from his cupboards. He offered the men each a glass; Sirius accepted while Remus did not. Snape supposed that made sense. It was a lot harder for werewolves to get drunk, and Remus was far too polite to take that much from Snape’s stores.

"I have a few questions,” Severus finally said.

Remus nodded. “I can try to answer them, but some I might not be able to.”

Snape inclined his head in acknowledgment, and then took a large sip of the burning alcohol.

“First, why did none of the sexual abuse show up on any of Poppy’s scans?”

Sirius fielded that question. “Harry. We have no idea how he’s doing it, and neither does he. But somehow he’s either healed himself so entirely that it doesn't appear on a diagnostic test, which is highly unlikely. The other is that his magic is preventing the scans from picking up injuries that do exist, which again should be impossible. Either way, we haven’t been able to figure it out. We asked Harry, in a much more roundabout way, if he thought he might be interfering with Remus’s scans. He said he thought he might be, but that he didn’t know how to stop.”

Remus took over again, voice hollow. “He said the first time he was just so desperate for us not to know—to know how ‘dirty and used up’ he was—” Remus’s voice cracked dangerously. “In any case, he begged his magic to hide the evidence. We would have taken him to a muggle for a physical exam, but we were afraid he would run from us again. It's horrible to say this, but since he’s not, er, suffering, down there, I didn’t want to push the issue.”

Snape considered this carefully. “There a few potions that were developed for such matters, although I don’t think anyone ever anticipated using them on a child. But they will take care of any wounds and infections, including the sexually transmitted variety.”

Each of the three men pretended they didn’t see the others flinch when Severus used that last classifier.

“Thank you,” Sirius said. “Thank you, Severus.”

Snape inclined his head but otherwise did not acknowledge the thanks. “I have a second question. What is being done to address the non-physical consequences of these events?”

Neither man had to ask what Severus meant.

“We’ve—we’ve hit a bit of an impasse, there. We can't get him into counseling at school, not without people inevitably finding out what for. He’s too young for the public to have that kind of information on him, you know what the papers will say.” Sirius’s voice was nearly pleading by the end of the sentence.

“Surely the headmaster could help you avoid the public eye? Or at least provide a cover story to the press? Surely he understands why discretion is so vital, especially for Potter.”

Sirius’s face went so dark in an instant that Snape had to sharply suppress the urge to recoil away. Sirius was usually so lighthearted in tone and appearance, and Snape hadn't seen him so openly deranged in nearly a decade, perhaps even longer. 

“Dumbledore would only use it to manipulate him,” Sirius said acidly. “He already knows too much, and I'd be a fool if I thought he didn’t already have his suspicions. But I refuse to confirm it for the old coot. Dumbledore might not act on _suspicions,_ not ones as sensitive as these.”

Remus put a hand on Sirius’s arm, trying to calm his husband. “Severus, we know this is a hard thing to accept, but if you truly wish to help Harry, you won’t trust Albus with him.”

Snape stared at the two men, never having imagined he’d hear two _Gryffindors_ rail against the headmaster so vehemently. The unpleasant murmur in the back of his head grew in volume, repeating what he'd been trying to avoid thinking ever since he saw the state Harry Potter was in. _Dumbledore is hiding something._

“You have given me much to deliberate,” Snape finally said, getting to his feet. “Rest assured none of it will leave my confidence.”

Sirius started to say something, but Remus cut him off. “I expect you’ll have more questions after you’ve had time to take this all in properly. Harry is quite the complicated child. I only wish we’d had more time to help him adjust to—to normalcy before he came to the castle.”

Sirius grabbed some Floo powder and threw it into the fireplace, stepping through as soon as the flames were green. Remus went to do the same but turned back to Snape at the last moment.

“I didn’t want to say this in front of Sirius, because he wouldn’t want to hear it, but I know James did a lot of awful things when we were young, and I know the worst of them were targeted at you. Thank you, for not holding that against Harry.”

And then the werewolf was gone before Snape had a chance to answer.

* * *

The promise of flying lessons carried Harry through the following week in a blur. He'd been hesitant when Sirius had first told him about brooms and quidditch, but now he was nearly ravenous for the opportunity. Hermione finally got her pens in the mail, and Harry received his first-ever hug from anyone other than Sirius or Remus.

He breezed through Herbology and Transfiguration and tolerated History of Magic, Astronomy, and DADA. Charms only stood out because they learn _Lumos,_ a funny little charm that makes one’s wand light up. Harry thought it was a bit useless for himself, since the light he could conjure in his hands was a lot brighter, and it could hover around him instead of him having to pretend his wand was a torch. Potions, of course, wouldn’t have a practical until Friday, the day after the flying lessons. By lunch on Thursday, Harry thought he would burst from anticipation. He wanted to _fly._

3:30 finally came around on Thursday, however, and Harry eagerly headed out onto the grounds with the rest of the Slytherin first years. Flying lessons were combined with all the houses, and Harry happily pulled Draco and Blaise over towards Hermione. The girl was questioning Neville about some gift he’d gotten at lunchtime, which turned out to be a little glass ball called a Remembrall.

Pansy, of course, made several comments about the stupidity of such an object, but Harry just told Neville to ignore her.

Madam Hooch was in charge of lessons, but Professors McGonagall and Snape were also there, which made Harry feel a bit better. Pansy wouldn’t be able to mess with Neville too badly with them there.

The school brooms weren’t exactly impressive to look at, but Harry didn’t really mind. As long as the broom could get him up off the ground and keep him there, he’d be happy. A burst of pride bloomed in his chest when he was the second to get his broom into his hand (Draco, of course, had been the first, and was quite smug about it.)

Snape and McGonagall spread out around the area Hootch had marked out for the lessons, and soon enough, Hooch was counting down for them to kick off.

“Three—Two—”

But before she could get to 'one', Neville was in the air. Harry pushed down a wave of annoyance, knowing that Neville most likely hadn’t meant to. Everyone else realized that quickly enough, as Neville rose erratically into the air. Hooch began to get on her own broom, clearly meaning to follow Neville and bring him back down, but Neville apparently wasn’t going to wait.

McGonagall only barely managed to slow the boy’s fall, shouting a spell that Harry couldn’t quite hear over everyone’s screams. What he could hear, however, was the sharp crack of Neville’s wrist breaking on impact. Harry’s own wrist twinged in sympathy.

“Alright, Mr. Longbottom, let's get you to the infirmary,” the elderly witch said as she helped the boy in question to his feet.

Hooch turned back to the rest of the class. “Not to be insensitive, but that’s a clear example of what happens when you don’t keep a firm grip. Now, let’s try again.”

This time, the count down was uninterrupted, and Harry launched himself into the air alongside his friends. He let out a loud whoop as he felt the air rush by him, a grin stretching across his face so wide it nearly hurt.

“This is amazing!” He hollered to Draco, who simply laughed in response. Hermione seemed quite a bit less fond of the sensation, and Blaise seemed as nonchalant as usual.

“We’re not even that high up,” Blaise said airily.

But then Hooch gave the signal for them to go higher again, and soon they were about 50 feet up. 

Pansy’s voice came over just then. “Look at this garbage! Who’d ever be caught dead with a remembrall? I think I’d be doing Longbottom a favor if I dropped it now.”

Harry glared, turning to face Pansy, who was hovering a few feet away. “Don’t you dare, Pansy! That’s not yours!”

Pansy snickered. “Oh yeah, Potter? What’s a baby like you going to do about it? Tattle on me?”

“Not if you just give it back when we get back down!” Harry said angrily.

Pansy rolled her eyes. “I think not Potter. Your word against mine, anyway.”

Harry glanced to the ground, trying to see where Snape was. He realized with a start that he and Pansy were a lot higher up than the rest of the students, almost even with the top of one of the castle's towers. Snape, apparently, had realized this at that exact moment as well.

“Potter! Parkinson! Get down here!” Harry thought the man must have used a spell to make his voice travel that far.

Pansy, who had been examining the Remembrall again, startled at Snape’s demand, and dropped the trinket. Both of them watched it fall for a second, and then Harry took off after it. 

“Potter!” He heard as he raced down in a dive, eyes fixed on the tiny ball. He grabbed it out of the air and pulled out of the dive with a little under a foot to spare, using the momentum to swing himself off the broom. He landed in an easy crouch, broom in one hand.

“Potter!”

Harry looked up to see Hooch’s angry face above him. “Potter, what the blazes were you thinking. You could have snapped your neck—”

Draco landed next to Harry, and after quickly checking the younger boy over, jumped to his defense. “Pansy Parkinson dropped Longbottom’s Remembrall, ma’am. Harry was just trying to get it back.”

“A dive like that is far too dangerous for first years, and you should have never been that high up in the first place!” Hooch snapped at Harry. “You’re dismissed! Out of my sight!”

Draco started to argue again, but Harry just pulled him towards the castle, leaving their brooms on the lawn.

“She’s mostly just scared, Draco,” Harry said quietly. “I shouldn’t have done that. She was white enough when Neville fell.”

Draco huffed. “She shouldn’t have yelled at you for pulling that off, though. That was the best dive I’ve ever seen!”

Harry shrugged and made the mistake of looking back.

Snape was staring after them, face impassive. Harry gulped.

Needless to say, he wasn’t shocked when he got a note from Snape during dinner.

> _Come to my office after eating. We have a few things to discuss._

___________________________________

Blaise walked Harry down to Snape’s office, having finished eating before Draco (Harry hadn’t been able to eat much of anything once he’d read the note. He was too nervous.)

“You’ll be fine, Harry. The most he might do is assign detention for breaking the rules.”

“I didn’t know I was breaking one!” Harry burst out. Blaise just shrugged, and by then they were at the door.

“I’ll wait in the common room for you,” he said, and then left as Harry entered the office.

Snape was sitting at his desk, and an older student was perched in a chair off to the side of it. Harry knew he was a Slytherin, but was only fairly confident about his year. 5th, maybe?

“Marcus Flint,” the student said, rising and extending a hand. Harry shook it nervously, wondering what was going on. “I Heard about that dive you pulled off. Ever played a game of quidditch?”

“No,” Harry said sheepishly, sitting in the other chair as Flint sank back into his own. “I’m looking forward to watching the matches, though.”

Flint snorted. “You won’t be watching them, not if I have any say.”

Harry looked to Snape, startled. “Sir?”

Snape simply raised his eyebrows, gesturing to Harry to let Flint finish.

“I want you on the team, Potter. We haven't had a decent seeker in years.”

Harry gaped at him. “What—are you serious?”

“Absolutely.”

Harry turned to Snape again. “Is that even allowed? I thought first years couldn’t have their own brooms.”

Snape smirked viciously. “Indeed, there is a rule against that. However, as I had to remind the headmaster earlier, there is _not_ a rule against first years joining a quidditch team. It just so happens that a Mister Sirius Black has gifted Professor McGonagall a Nimbus 2000. She’s asked if you’d like to borrow it for the time being.”

Harry narrowed his eyes. “Borrow it,” he stated flatly.

Snape nods, seemingly unaware of Harry’s skepticism. “Oh, indeed. You’ll have to keep it with you for the duration of the season, I’m afraid. She simply doesn’t have time to bring it to you every practice. In fact, she’s insisted you’ll have to borrow it over the summer as well because she doesn’t have a place to keep it in her summer dwelling either.”

Harry stared at the man, not sure if he could believe his luck. “So—then I can join the team?”

“Yes, Potter. I’ll take you out for a private session Saturday," Flint said. "You can join practices starting next week.”

Harry nodded. “Thank you!”

“Don't thank me, Potter,” Flint said, getting to his feet again. “Impress me.” He nodded to Professor Snape, and then left the office, seeming quite satisfied.

“Is that all, professor?” Harry asked, seeing that Snape had made no move to get up himself.

“Not quite,” the man said. Harry gulped nervously.

“I’ve spoken with your guardians, Mr. Potter.”

Harry went pale, thinking about what he’d done to the common room last week. “Yes, sir?”

“They want you to know they are proud of you,” Snape began, seeming a bit disgusted at the sentiment, “for making the team, and they’ll be here for the first match.”

Harry’s heart soared. “Really, sir?”

Snape just gave him a look that clearly meant he hadn’t been lying. “Additionally,” the professor said deliberately, “I have been made aware of some things from your past, Mr. Potter.”

Harry’s stomach did a funny little twist. “I—”

“I am not informing you to scare or mock you, Harry.” Harry wondered how Snape had known what he’d been thinking. “They didn’t tell me too much I hadn’t already figured out, just made me aware of the true extent of the matter.”

Harry shoved down his knee-jerk urge to flee. “Why are you telling me this, sir?”

“So that you’ll believe me when I say that those things will never happen again, not at Hogwarts, not while I draw air. No child should fear those things happening in this castle.”

Harry blinked away the sudden moisture that was gathering in his eyes. “Thank you, sir. I mean that.”

“I believe you do, Harry, but there is no need to thank me.” Snape stared at him for another moment, before taking two vials and a small container out of the depths of his robes.

“Professor?” Harry asked, studying the objects that were now set on the desk in front of him.

“Madam Pomfrey’s scans did not reveal as much as they should have, and I think you know that, Harry,” Snape said without accusation. “These should help remedy the issues you have hidden away.”

“Issues?” Harry parroted, trying not to blush too badly. His scar always stood out like crazy when he went red. He reached out tentatively to take the vials, only pulling them to himself when Snape nodded his approval.

“That first one, the blue one, is for any, shall we say, internal abrasions, you may have suffered.”

Harry blinked dumbly and then realized what Snape meant. This time he really did go red. “Erm, it’s been a while since the last—um—incident,” he said, not daring to look at Snape as he spoke.

Severus felt himself flushing a bit as well, chagrined at his own awkwardness. “Be that as it may, Mr. Potter, this will take care of any scarring. Not to be indelicate, but scarring in that particular location can cause a variety of issues.”

Harry considered this, nodding. “Do I take it now?”

Snape nodded, and Harry did so, and then considered the remaining vial. “What’s this one for?”

Snape did go a bit red that time, and let out a cough. “I’m not sure exactly what you’ve—erm—learned—that is to say, you may not be aware—“ he broke off, and Harry frowned.

“Professor?”

“Harry,” Severus said carefully, deciding to just go for it. “I do not say this to scare, shame, or slander you, but unprotected sexual activity can result in semi-permanent or permanent illnesses, even in the wizarding world.”

Harry blanched: a true feat, considering he was already quite pale from nerves at that point. He tugged on a few curls worriedly.

“I didn’t know—am I—will it be alright?”

Snape nodded quickly. “That potion is designed to purge you of any infections, wizard or muggle, that you may have acquired in such a manner. Take it just before bed, as it tends to make you feel a bit tired.”

Harry nodded determinedly. He was not going to let any diseases stay in his body, not if he could help it.

“The last is the balm I promised last week, if you remember,” Snape said as Harry tucked the vial into his trouser pocket. 

“The one for my scars?” Harry asked, perking up. Snape nodded, encouraged by Harry’s uplift in attitude.

“Thank you, thank you!” Harry exclaimed, getting to his feet in his excitement. “Oh, Professor, thank you!”

“You’re very welcome, Harry. One use should be enough for most of the ones on your torso, although feel free to use a second on any stubborn ones. More than three will cease to be effective, unfortunately. Please let me know if you need any assistance with the application.”

Harry nodded, and then made sure his chair was as he’d found it, understanding the dismissal. “Thank you again, sir, really.”

Severus watched the boy leave, wishing that he didn’t know why Harry thought a simple healing balm was such an incredible gift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Let me know what yall think about things so far!


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